


By Any Other Name

by CypressTiger



Category: Marvel 3490, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Comic References, Crossdressing, Disney References, Gen, Getting Together, Literary References, Minor Character Death, Mulan AU, Secret Identity, Symbolism, Trigger Warning: Shrapnel Bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressTiger/pseuds/CypressTiger
Summary: Fearing that her family fortune would be lost to the untrustworthy Stane, Natasha Stark illegally answers a draft notice and escapes to war. As a young noble woman living in a patriarchal society, her military service is forbidden. Impersonating a man, she sets out to train with the other troops only to discover that she is uniquely qualified for the army. Using her wits and skills, Natasha and her new group of friends work together to destroy the enemy known as Hydra. Despite her best efforts to remain unattached, she falls for a dashing captain along the way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based on the Ballad of Mulan poem as well as the Disney film, _Mulan_. The Marvel films and comic books are also referenced extensively.

The rhythmic chime of metal striking metal echoes through the empty courtyard where grass grows fitfully in patches under the early March sun. A lonely robin sings from the bare branches of a solitary cherry tree rooted in the yard while deep below a platoon of ants dig their way out of the hard packed ground, making way for the rest of the army. Not far off a roaring furnace and the sound of shifting coals briefly drowns out the birdsong. The smell of fresh sweet hay dances in the breeze. Acrid burning coal tinges the air, masking the scent of horse wafting from the stables. Whistling an off-key tune, a young man with strong shoulders and brown hair pushes a cart of hay across the courtyard. In separate stalls of the stable a brindle stallion and gray draft horse doze peacefully. A young woman passes through the heavy wooden doors of the manor house, dressed in a fine pale-green gown with hair the color of a copper urn. 

Sitting atop a sunny hillock overlooking a small town, this is the estate of the most noble Stark family, metallurgists for seven generations and weapons manufacturers for the last 40 years. They produce the finest cannons and swords in the world. The patriarch of the family--Lord Howard Stark--and his wife Lady Maria, were away on business; their only child left behind to run the family's affairs with the aid of several loyal servants who assist the young heir in maintaining the business and keeping the manor running smoothly.

The stable boy, Harold Hogan, ensures that the animals on the property are cared for. The butler, Edwin Jarvis, ensures that three meals are served each day and that dirty clothing and linens are sent out to the laundress in town. Virginia Potts, the young woman with vibrant red hair, was tasked with the most difficult job. She is responsible for keeping the scatterbrained twenty year-old on schedule. 

Crossing the yard, Virginia, called Pepper by friends and family, waves to Harold standing in the open stable doorway. “We will be going into town in one hour. Would you prepare the carriage?” she asks. Harold, called Happy by their employer and no one else, nods and the pair share a soft smile. “Oh, also, I do not imagine I will have much luck in there. When I open the door in a few minutes, could you call him?” 

Harold laughs cheerfully and wholeheartedly before he agrees. With a battle plan in hand, Pepper marches up to the small shack across from the stables where the sound of striking metal continues. The wooden door swings open easily. Heat rolls through the door, prickling sweat along her brow instantly. The only light in the room comes from the glowing red forge. Alongside the forge is an enormous bellows, powered by a walking wheel. Obediently trotting inside the wheel, a blue greyhound yips in greeting to Pepper. 

The current master of the house stands in the center of it all, pounding red-hot metal into shape over a heavy anvil. The pounding continues for nearly a full minute before the project is set back into the flames to re-heat. Wiping sweat away from her brow delicately with a handkerchief, Pepper gives her boss a no-nonsense stare. “You are expected in town in one hour. Jarvis has drawn a bath for you.”

“I don’t need a bath because I’m not going,” is the only response as a pair of tongs are used to push and pull the metal in and out of the flames, leaving no cold spots. Several strands of black hair fall in front of blue eyes. They must be tucked out of the way for safety, so Stark sets aside the tongs. Rapidly un-braiding and re-braiding the long hair, the only child of the Stark family finally looks up. 

Natasha Antonia Stark is highly intelligent. Despite being a woman her father, Howard, ensured that his daughter was well educated, both in standard schooling and in the family business but shortly before Lord and Lady Stark left for the capital Howard expressed dissatisfaction that his only daughter had become so masculine. Years of work in the smithies, learning to craft the damascus steel that Stark Smithworks is famous for, had given Natasha strong muscles and thick callouses. Any who look at her can see that Natasha neither looks like nor acts like a proper, wealthy, young woman. 

“You are going. If you do not go into town and charm that woman into finding you a nice husband you will be forced to marry Obadiah Stane. Your own father said that man cannot be trusted. Put down your tools and come inside. You need to look presentable.”

“Can’t you just go for me?” Natasha whines, though she would, if asked, deny vehemently having done any such behavior--ever--in her life. 

Pepper sighs and rolls her eyes. “I cannot go in your place. The matchmaker has already met me and would not be fooled by such a juvenile trick. Secondly, you already promised to let me marry Harold.” Pepper’s tight smile turns fond.

“Who?” the black-haired head bends over the coals, inspecting the glowing orange metal and criticising its half-formed shape.

“Harold, Harold Hogan,” Pepper answers, perplexed. “Happy.”

“Oh! I forgot that was his name,” Natasha says as she pulls away from the flames, a surprised expression on her face. “Huh. Well, alright, fine. Fine. I’ll finish up here and then we can head out in an hour or two.” She quickly moves away from Pepper, around the anvil, and across the small shack.

“No. You need to bathe, brush that bird’s nest out of your hair, and put on clothing that is not covered in filth.” Pepper stood akimbo, head tilted and the world’s best glare fixed upon her face.

“I’ll change and you can brush out my hair in the carriage,” Natasha waves a hand over her shoulder, unconcerned.

“This is not something that you can negotiate, Natasha!”

“I’m sorry, whose house is this? Whose name is on the front gate?” Natasha wheels about, brandishing a pointed hammer in Pepper’s direction. Unfortunately, years as Natasha’s assistant provided her with the knowledge that this specific tool is a cross pien hammer. She won’t be intimidated by such an empty threat.

“I really hoped that it would not come to this.” Pepper spins on her heel and marches a few steps to the door, throwing it open. A sleek and lightweight carriage--lacquered in black and trimmed in gold--sits in the center of the courtyard, the brindle stallion stands patiently between the shafts, waiting for the numerous straps, chains, and harness pieces to be buckled into place. Together the pair make a striking image. 

Harold’s round face pops into view over the footboard of the carriage at the sound of the door. He whistles--loud and piercing-- “Dummy! Treat!” The blue greyhound takes off like a shot and the walking wheel clicks to a stop, the bellows sinking to the ground.

“No, no, no! I am working! I need this furnace going hot and I can’t do that without-without--.” Natasha stammers and stumbles over her words. Frantically gesturing at the forge, the wheel, and every tool strewn across the floor surrounding the anvil.

“You can do it later this afternoon, after we have returned from our meeting.” 

Pepper grabs one sooty arm, dragging her recalcitrant boss out of the building. The irate blacksmith curses during the entire trek across the courtyard, even curses at Happy when the cheerful stable hand laughs at the sight. Dummy dances and leaps around, bouncing between his Mistress and the Holder of Treats.

A steaming hot bath is waiting in the manor bathroom underneath a cerulean seascape mural that ripples slightly as if the steam gives life to the glass waves. Fluffy towels wait nearby; hair wash sits beside the raised wooden tub. Soap suds circle the water, shoring up against the dark wood and leaving behind streaks of foam. Pepper unceremoniously strips Natasha of her filthy clothes and shoves the raven-haired beauty into the tub.

The warm water is refreshing; the soap suds clear away the soot and ash that clings to tawny skin and the hair wash strips away days of grease. Natasha emerges from the bath a remade woman, water sloughing down her gentle curves. The chill air sends a shiver through her spine to her slim waist but the dampness is quickly chased away by a soft towel that brushes across the small of her back and circles her hips.

Rose scented lotion is smoothed over rough callouses, matching perfume mists across muscular shoulders. A shimmering red dress is draped over her slender figure and clings invitingly to her hips and her breasts. The dark crimson of the dress accentuates her bronzed skin, creating a natural glow. A delicate ivory comb is pulled through long hair, easing out the last of several tangles. As it dries, its natural shape takes hold and creates soft kinks. Pepper places a small drop of oil into her hands and works it into Natasha’s hair. In the end, a head of wavy, sleek black hair is all that remains of the wild mess it was before.

Pepper takes control at the vanity, expertly applying the finest cosmetics available to Natasha’s strong features, feminising them. A wisp of gold over the eyes, setting fierce blue eyes on fire. Blood red color on the lips to make them appear fuller, less like they are often chewed upon in worry or concentration. Pepper’s last task requires a cautious venture into the realm of Maria Stark; a large gold-filigree case--seventeen drawers high--houses the entire collection of priceless jewels owned by the Stark family. 

Chokers with emeralds the size of birds eggs, five feet of pearls strung on fine silk cord, and earrings with flawless yellow diamonds all make a statement. A day like today needs a feminine touch, not a statement of power and wealth. Pepper unwraps a unique necklace, one commissioned decades ago. The dark bronze metal--curled and carved to resemble branches--encircles Natasha’s throat as if to embrace it and rests against her prominent collar bones. Tiny pink tourmalines wrapped in gold and wound together in quintets form tiny cherry blossoms perched upon the dark branch while two round cut pigeon’s-blood rubies--topped with matching bronze leaves--are slipped over Natasha’s still un-pierced earlobes. Like the cherry tree planted on the day of her birth, Natasha is strong and resilient yet, unimaginably beautiful; if one is patient enough to wait for her to reach her full potential.

Pepper quickly ushers Natasha out of the manor, amazed that they were somehow on time. Standing beside the carriage, Harold waits to help the ladies into the rear seat. Natasha is quick to take her own seat, slouching down against the buttery soft leather in a very unladylike manner. Harold’s strong hands aid Pepper’s climb into the carriage, lingering long enough for him to press a kiss against the back of her hand and a blush overtakes her face, bright enough to rival her hair. Natasha sniggers and receives an elbow to the ribs. Jarvis emerges from the house to wish her good luck with a fond smile. She grins back, feeling loved.

The ride into town is smooth and swift. The carriage is easily recognized and the villagers call out greetings to the Stark heiress. Lady Natasha shifts forward with a smile, taking a more proper posture, and waves to them as the carriage passes. Until late last year, when Natasha released the worker's debts, the town was mostly owned by Stark Smithworks. Today people work for the smithy of their own free will and the past four months have been the most productive and profitable in the family’s long history; aided in large part by the removal of Obadiah Stane.

Stane had been ousted for double dealing and embezzlement and ever since had been furiously campaigning to buy his way back into favor through marriage. He was the only available bachelor of suitable pedigree within a hundred miles and had been deep in negotiations with Howard prior to the patriarch suddenly calling off the deal. Lord and Lady Stark had left for the capital city only a few days later. Despite the broken agreement, Obadiah continues to court Natasha with extravagant gifts that he parades through town on his way to the manor; he has made it impossible to deny his valid attempts to earn her hand.

Unfortunately, Stane has legal standing to force the heiress into the marriage. A verbal agreement had been made between the two elder men and if Natasha fails to convince the matchmaker to bring a better suitor from one of the larger cities, she will be forced to marry Stane in the coming year. As the carriage neared its destination Pepper clears her throat to speak. 

“Please try not to deviate too far from what we have rehearsed. I know that you prefer to follow your gut emotion on interpersonal matters, but--”

“I know the stakes, Pepper.” Natasha interrupts. “Either I deal with the matchmaker and entertain suitors until my twenty-first birthday or I marry Stane and lose everything. I won’t mess this up, Pep. I won’t surrender the company to Stane. I refuse. I’ll do whatever I have to do to hold off the wrinkly old bastard for another eighteen months.” 

“I was actually going to say that your interpersonal skills could use some work,” Pepper pauses, “I know how much you care, Natasha, we all do. For the people who work for you, for your family and friends, you would do anything. 

But, you're not alone so let us help you. Jarvis and I will continue to run interference with your father’s business contacts, Harold will keep delivering forged orders from Lord Stark to the smithy and the matchmaker will provide some suitors to convince Stane you are searching for a husband. After you turn twenty-one everything can go back to normal.”

Natasha sighs gusting and glances nervously behind them. Everything she cares about hinges upon today’s events. By sundown, the next year of Natasha’s life will be decided. 

Pepper had arranged the meeting to take place in the only restaurant in town, a pleasant little place that serves coffee, tea, and simple meals. As a favor to the Stark family, it currently sits empty save for the beautiful woman patiently waiting for their arrival. Harold pulls back on the reins and the carriage settles just in front of the shop. From the carriage Natasha can see Janet van Dyne, the matchmaker. She is far younger than Natasha expected and she appears kind. Her auburn hair is cropped short--a daring look that was uncommon enough to appear both exotic and stylish. Inky black and sunny yellow fabrics make up her unique dress and matching fascinator. She rises from her seat as Natasha enters the shop alone. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. van Dyne. Thank you for meeting with me,” the women clasp hands in greeting and settle into their seats. 

“I must say, I was terribly surprised to receive your request. Rumor has it that your parents are on business in the city. Why would you be consulting with a matchmaker on your own when it is your mother and father who should have contacted me?”

Natasha plasters on a charming smile. “I received word from my parents several months ago. They are terribly busy with other business matters at the moment and asked me to begin courting suitors.”

“Well, Lady Stark, I have reviewed your proposal,” Janet states in a no-nonsense tone, “and I do not believe you wrote any of it. So why not take this opportunity to tell me what _you_ want? In your own words, please.” 

Natasha’s dazzling smile dims, fear coursing through her. “I-“ she stops, uncertain. Janet smiles encouragingly. With a deep breath, she comes clean in a rush of words, tumbling over each other like water over rocks. “I don’t want to get married. I just don’t. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pregnant or marginalized. I am capable of so much more than what society expects of me.” She draws in a sharp breath as she panics internally at her admission. 

“But I--I have to--I have to court suitors or my father’s former business partner will use their broken agreement to force a marriage between us. My parents are… away on business... indefinitely.” Natasha holds Janet’s eyes, willing the other woman to read the truth behind her words. Janet pauses and nods solemnly in understanding for Natasha’s situation. “I turn twenty-one in eighteen months. If I court suitors until then everything will be fine.” The raven-haired heiress hated the word ‘fine.’ Nothing would ever be ‘fine’ for her again, not after what happened to her parents.

Howard and Maria Stark had been found dead in a ravine outside the capital city. Their remains had been brought back to Stark manor where a bland, unassuming government official delivered the news to Natasha personally. The complications of an underage, unmarried female heir inheriting the family’s sizeable wealth and profitable business were immediately apparent to all parties and had become a persistent and painful thorn in Natasha’s side ever since. A deal was struck between them to delay the proper paperwork from being filed. In eighteen months, when Natasha turns 21--the age requirement mandated by Howard’s will-- the government will release the news of Lord and Lady Stark’s death. As an adult of twenty-one and sole heir, Natasha will be head of the household and cannot be forced into a contract made by the former head. Howard and Maria Stark were quietly buried in the family cemetery on the manor grounds and Natasha hasn't visited them since. 

Natasha is positive that there is no way for Obadiah to know that Howard and Maria are dead but not long after the news reached the manor, courtship gifts started arriving. Stane continues to behave as though the agreement was not broken at all. So long as Ms. van Dyne agrees to provide suitors for courting, Stane can be delayed.

“I understand your feelings and your situation. Really, I do,” Janet’s kind smile soothes Natasha’s nerves. “I will do everything in my power to find you a suitable husband. We have more than a year, there is plenty of time.” 

The pair exchanged small talk for several more minutes before the conversation came to a natural conclusion. With the meeting complete, Janet van Dyne takes her leave. She pauses outside to speak with Pepper for a moment before she crosses the street, alights a small two-seat carriage and is quickly whisked away.

Pepper raises her eyebrows as the raven-haired woman finally leaves the shop. “That went well. Ms. van Dyne will be in contact regarding potential matches.” Natasha nods absentmindedly, watching the spot where the matchmaker had vanished. “Shall I filter the candidates for you when their information arrives?” 

“You know best,” Natasha says as she finally turns her gaze away. “While we’re in town I want to stop in at the factory and make sure everything’s going well with the new manager.” Harold steps down from the front seat and offers his hand to the ladies. “After everything with Stane, anyone would be better,” she mutters, voice lost in the gentle breeze.

Four decades ago when Stark Smithworks expanded into weapons manufacturing a new, more expansive smithy had been built beside a swift and deep river. The powerful current turns a waterwheel, powering the bellows that fan the flames of the furnace while a large basin of cold water--pulled up from the riverbed--quenches the heated metals wielded by skilled craftsmen. After Stane’s treachery was uncovered--thanks in no small part to damning evidence sent by Howard straight from the capitol city--Natasha wasted no time in appointing Grayson Armond as manager of the factory. The elder man of mixed descent had been Head Designer of Stark Smithworks for many years and was more than qualified to replace Stane.

Harold is quick to guide the carriage out of town, down a well traveled dirt road to the smithy. Cold water spills over the banks of the river, rising high due to the melting winter snows. The water wheel clicks a rapid rhythm and a roaring furnace creates a heat shimmer over the chimney spouts. As the carriage slows in front of the dark stone building, a man with greying hair and delicate spectacles emerges. He opens his arms wide in welcome as he approaches. Natasha steps down from the carriage and accepts the gentle hug. 

“Gray, how are you?” Natasha smiles, pushing back her long hair as the wind plays with the raven strands. “Is everything moving forward as planned? Are the workers content with the recent changes in management?”

“The smithy is producing the new swords per your ingenious designs and the workers seem to be quite content,” Gray responds with a fond smile. “With Stane gone, our blacksmiths have more time to produce a higher quality of workmanship. Everything is proceeding smoothly per the instructions your father sent last week,”

“Wonderful. I’m glad the instructions Happy delivered were clear,” Natasha sighs gently, relieved that the ruse had not been discovered. She had been insecure of her ability to forge her father's handwriting, though Pepper was adamant that it appeared identical.

“Though,” Armond continues, “we are having a slight problem with the blueprints and dimensions for the newest cannon. While you are here, perhaps you would take a look and help us with the measurements?”

“Of course, I’ll be happy to help,” she grins in excitement. Before Natasha could disappear into the smithy, Pepper stops the heiress. The redhead tugs off the ruby earrings and steals away the priceless necklace, saving them from irreparable damage due to the soot and grease in the smithy. Simply setting foot inside the building seems to doom a person to filth for the rest of the day. 

Dozens of men are hard at work around the open building. Blacksmiths and their apprentices stand bent over anvils or in front of the furnace to reheat their projects, ignoring the pair as they enter. The firemen shoveling coal into the forge and the young boys monitoring the bellows pause to wave a greeting from across the room. A thick wooden table tucked into a corner of the building sits covered in schematics and writing utensils. Three blacksmiths join them.

Natasha looks over the blueprints and checks weight of the cannon and the gauge of the barrel and determines that her initial calculations were correct. Her math is always correct. Upon looking over the scribblings of the blacksmiths who had been working on the blueprints, Natasha spots the problem. They aren't using the correct alloy specifications. As the heiress explains the new alloy she discovered and documented in the blueprints, she demonstrates the process to combine the previously incompatible metals. By the end of her explanation, streaks of soot cover her arms and stain her dress.

With an excitement to begin crafting a new alloy, the blacksmiths eagerly return to their anvils and get to work. Natasha snatches up a scrap of cloth and attempts to scrub away some of the soot in the slack tub. Pepper and Happy both get cross when she messes up the carriage leather. A tall, lanky apprentice brings a nearly finished sword to the tub, murmurs “pardon me, miss,” and quenches the metal. As soon as the blade is extracted from the cool water Natasha steals it away, examining the still dull edge for imperfections. Once the edge is sharpened with a whetstone wheel it will be perfect. She nods her approval to the blacksmith watching from across the room.

The combination of the roaring furnace with the repetitive strikes of metal against metal masks the sound of a lone messenger on horseback. The bay stallion whickers as the rider pulls him to a stop. Harold and Pepper scramble out of the back seat, separating themselves and tugging clothing straight. Dismounting his horse, the messenger ignores the pair scrambling out of the carriage and enters the smithy. 

“Attention, please! Attention!” the tow-headed young man calls out in-effectually. The sounds of the active forge and smithy drown out his words. Natasha takes hold of a thick and sturdy rope beside the front door and gives it several quick tugs. Hanging high above their heads among the exposed roof support beams is a sturdy bell. Moving back and forth under the motion of the rope, the bell clangs loudly, echoing through the building and prompting all eyes to turn away from their anvils. The stranger locks eyes with Natasha and blushes as he turns away.

“Um,” the man stammers slightly, “All persons living in the nearby settlement of Stark River must come with me to town at once. There is an important announcement to be made.” Grayson opens his mouth to protest but the newcomer raises his hand to stop him. “Official government business. Everyone must come to town now.” 

Armond sighs and shakes his head. With a wide swing of his arm, Gray dismisses all the workers. They walk away from the forge in a large group. Thirty men marching down the road towards town. Natasha rejoins Pepper in the back seat of the carriage. She ignores their questions for the moment and orders Happy to follow the blacksmiths down the road.

In the center of town another government messenger is waiting, an older man with brown hair. Natasha is surprised to see Jarvis sitting astride Palladium--the white draft horse from the Stark stable--at the edge of the growing crowd. Happy pulls back on the reins and the carriage stops. The messengers reunite at the center of town but remain mounted on horseback, exchanging a few quiet words. A few more townspeople leave their homes; everyone in town is now waiting in the street impatiently. The crowd buzzes like a beehive.

Finally the strangers raise their hands and voices to gather the attention of the locals. After several minutes the crowd quiets, still shifting restlessly. The blond messenger that had gathered the workers from the foundry clears his throat to speak. “The government has received word that no less than four hundred soldiers are now missing in action. Hydra has increased their army and is moving steadily forward into--” 

Numerous voices rise up in protest. “Missing?” “What about our sons!” “Have our sons been reported missing?” Parents, siblings and children call out, asking for word about their loved ones. The second messenger lets out a sharp whistle, silencing most of the townsfolk. 

“Your loved ones have not been reported missing in action,” his voice is gruff but kind. “The affected platoons all hail from the capital and the boroughs surrounding it. If you have not yet received word from the government, please believe that your men are alive and well.” The brunet gestures to the younger messenger, who sounds far less compassionate as he resumes his speech.

“In order to quell the oncoming surge of Hydra, additional forces are needed. By order of the government we are now drafting from families that have not yet sent men to the army. I have notices for the following families. Arsmith, Brysmith, Claysmith, Cursmith, Debaker, Josmith, Klismith, Lawsmith, Morsmith, Stark, Tersmith, Vismith and Wilcook. Please step forward to collect your notice.”

Slowly, twelve families step forward to receive their draft notice. Complaints rumble lowly through the crowd as the brunet man rides through the townsfolk to deliver the final draft notice to Lady Natasha Stark. He passes the envelope to the heiress where she sits in the carriage. “Here’s your draft notice, Ma’am. If you don’t mind me saying, there are a lot of families with the last name ‘Smith’ in this town.”

“Most of the men here learned the trade from their fathers who had no last name.” Natasha responded, forcing a smile onto her face. “With no last name, men were named after their profession. Since there were so many blacksmiths working for the foundry, we combined the first name of the previous generation with their job title to make a new last name,” she explains as the tow-headed messenger forces his way through the dispersing crowd, angry murmurs rolling up in his wake. 

“Unfortunately, my father is away on business and he has no son to send to war.” Gusts of wind brush through Natasha’s hair, tossing it this way and that. She shoves her hand into the raven strands to keep them away from her face. 

With a chuckle, the young blond answers, “I’ve heard that wealthy families like yours send servants in their stead. I'm sure you have a few hands to spare?” He laughs. Natasha’s expression goes cold, her gaze turns steely. The elder man strikes the blond across the back of his head, maneuvering his horse closer to whisper into the young man’s ear. An angry flush spreads across his young face, mirroring his previous blush. His initial excitement over meeting a noble family quickly evaporates under the heat of his embarrassment. 

Both messengers bid the heiress farewell, though the younger refuses to lift his head, and the pair leave the town. People continue to mill about the streets, talking and sharing condolences with the drafted families. Grayson approaches the carriage where Natasha and Pepper sit in silence. “Most of those families have sons too young to serve or no sons at all,” he sighs, watching the heiress. “We'll lose a quarter of our workers.”

She draws in a breath, unsteady but deep and meets his gaze. “Then I suppose it's time for the apprentices to prove themselves.” Armond holds her gaze for a moment longer before turning away. He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and calls the blacksmiths together to return to their work. Natasha watches them leave.

Dinner in the Stark Mansion is quiet this evening. With her parents gone, the Stark heiress no longer bothers with the main dining room, preferring to eat in the kitchen with the only family she has left. Jarvis baked fresh bread to compliment his stew and the scent provides a feeling of home. Pepper and Happy sit close together during dinner. Natasha smiles while her heart is breaking. This wonderful and familiar scene will be gone tomorrow.

After the main course, as Jarvis serves up delicate souffles in expensive ceramic ramekins, Happy clears his throat. “I'll serve in your father's place.” 

“Don't be ridiculous. Your family already sent three sons. We'll think of another solution,” Natasha scoffs. She chews on her lower lip, unsure of what that solution might be.

“I have former military training, miss. I would be happy to serve again,” Jarvis spoke calmly, sounding like the voice of reason that he so often is.

“Your last military tour was nearly thirty years ago.” There is no way that Natasha would allow Jarvis to serve in her father’s place. The man has been a constant presence in her life, one that feels safe and loving. If he goes off to war, she might lose him forever.

“I doubt very much that warfare has changed a great deal since then,” he chuckles. “I'll head to the east market tomorrow to buy a horse.” The words strike her memory. Her thoughts shuttle back and forth, turning the words over in her head trying to decipher their meaning. While she is lost in thought, Happy argues that he should take Palladium or Damascus but Jarvis insists that he would not take away her carriage horse nor her wagon horse. Parchment and ink, a blood red cover, and warfare fall into place in her mind’s eye.

“Enough,” she snaps and the table falls silent. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.” Without excusing herself, Natasha leaves the room. The sound of plates being collected and quiet whispers being exchanged fades into the distance as she escapes. In her father's library--tucked away in the back of the house, overlooking the garden--Natasha searches out the book she remembers. Sitting on the bottom shelf--sheaves of paper standing between the pages--is a book bound in red leather. During her studies, Natasha had translated every word of the book from traditional Chinese to English, sticking the translations between the pages. In addition to Chinese, she could read, write and speak in seven other languages. A side effect of wealth and intelligence. 

She searches the book for a half-remembered ballad, a story of war and family. The page trembles as she reads. No, her hands are trembling. Elation and relief send shivers down her arms and through her hands. Clutching the translation in her hand, she rushes out of the room leaving the book open on the floor.

Her father’s room is silent and still as death. She gathers up her father’s armor from one of his old chests. Despite sitting in storage for thirty years, the armor is clean and dust-free. Pushing away her black hair, she carefully ties the armor on, testing the joints and checking her range of motion. The armor fits surprisingly well. Natasha is slightly shorter than her father and has a thinner waist but the metal panels and ties between them easily adjust to her size.

Several swords forged by the Stark patriarch stand on display in the parlor along with a decorative suit of armor enameled in red and gold. The sword hilts are plainly decorated, but the pattern found in the blades provides more than enough visual interest. These damascus blades are as beautiful as they are functional. She sheathes two of her father’s swords and ties them to her belt. As she does so she realizes something. With her intelligence, knowledge of weaponry, and smithing skills it will be difficult to pass herself off as just a servant. 

Natasha thinks carefully on her new name as she steps into her room to pack some plain clothing and cotton binding. A standing mirror in her room catches her attention. Her reflection is one she barely recognizes. She stands with a purpose, with conviction, armor transforming her silhouette into a manly figure. Her raven locks cut a black line through the plain silver armor. The damascus sword is light in her hands as she pulls the blade through her long black hair. Natasha almost laughs at her image, the cut hair falls flat against her cheeks and makes her face appear small. Taking scissors from her desk drawer, she trims and clips her hair back into an attractive cut that looks just right. Staring into her reflection, she knows who she is, she recognizes the masculine face in the mirror.

She finally knows what name to use, one she will be able to remember and respond to. A name her friends growing up had called her any time she was being too masculine. Turning over the translation she had pulled out of the book of poems and writing on the back, the heiress pens a final message.

 _Back soon._  
_All my love,_  
_N. Anthony Stark_  


Damascus and Palladium both whicker in surprise as Anthony enters the stable. He picks up the rarely used saddle and opens the brindle horse’s stall. The stallion shies away, a loud whinny piercing the night air. “Quiet, Damascus! It’s me, it’s just me,” Tony soothes. He murmurs and coos meaningless sounds as he places the rug and buckles the saddle into place. After several minutes, soldier and horse emerge from the stables and cross the courtyard, aiming for the entrance gate.

A whimper and a yip precede the shadowy figure of a blue greyhound slinking out of the darkness. “Dummy!” Tony hushes. “No, stay here. Be a good boy while I’m gone.” He pats the dog gently, scratching lightly as he pulls his hand away, holding tight to the reins. As they creep through the courtyard, Dummy continues to follow. The dog stubbornly refuses to stay behind and disobeys every command he is given. At the gate, Tony walks Damascus through and turns to chase Dummy back to the house, to no avail. A well thrown stick finally sends the dog back into the yard and Tony is free to shut the gate silently. 

Half a moment later, whines and scratching noises seep through cracks in the gate. With a sad smile, Tony mounts Damascus and starts off down the road. The horse barely moves a full stride before loud rustling echoes over the wall. Turning to watch the top of the moonlit wall, Tony’s mouth drops open in shock as a sleek dark blur launches over the nine foot high stone fence. Dummy had climbed the cherry tree and jumped the fence.

The blue greyhound yips and prances around horse and rider. Tony shakes his head, rubbing his short-cropped hair and chuckling. “Alright, you can come. But don't blame me when the army kicks you out,“ he whispers as he spurs the brindle stallion into motion. 

Dark shadows paint the road in blacks and grays as the trio passes through the quiet town. A few candles burn behind curtains like lonely, dying stars. As the town fades into the distance Damascus picks up speed, carrying the Stark heir off into the night. In the morning Pepper and Harold and Jarvis call for Natasha, searching everywhere. But Tony does not hear them. He only hears the chatter of bluejays and the cry of a falcon overhead. Day bleeds into night and an evening under the stars fades into a sweetgrass-scented morning. Settled into a deep green valley is a sea of canvas tents, arranged in orderly lines. A few men emerge from their tents as dawn lightens the sky. As Tony makes his way down the incline, the sun crests the eastern hill and floods the valley with light.

Deep breaths and a racing heartbeat follow Stark into the camp. His internal monologue consists of a constant stream of ‘breathe, breathe, breathe’ and ‘you’re tony stark, you’re a man, you can do this, you’re tony stark, you’re a man, you can do this.’ Coat shining in the morning sun, Damascus trots proudly through the forest of white canvas. He comes to a gentle stop in the center of the encampment. A plain looking man sits in front of a portable desk, making notes in the margins of a large ledger. He glances up as Tony dismounts. “Enlisting or drafted?”

“Um...drafted,” Tony answers before clearing his throat and pitching his voice a bit lower. 

The agent sets down his pen, “Last name?“

Tony’s response of “Stark” is followed by a flurry of pages being flipped from side to side. The man finally settles on a page and glances up as he asks another question.

“Stark River settlement or Goodville township?”

“Stark River.”

The government agent hums and gives Tony another, longer look. “Full name?”

“Anthony--” he pauses, scrambling for a name. “Edwin Stark.”

“Anthony Edwin Stark?“

“Yes,” Tony nods with more conviction than necessary given the circumstances. Surely Jarvis wouldn't mind. The bland looking man raises an eyebrow and his lips give a slight twitch. Silence stretches between them despite the sounds of an awakening army. “Yes... sir?”

“Better,” the agent smiles lightly. “Be sure that you are respectful when you meet the Colonel.” Taking a moment to write in the ledger, the man finally gestures to Damascus. “Your horse will be pressed into service as a cart puller and… you brought your dog?” He gives Tony an unimpressed look. 

Tony jumps to the defense. “I didn't bring him he brought himself. He's smart. He could carry messages across the camp and be a watchdog at night. In my smithy at home he pushes the wheel that powers my bellows.” 

“You are one of those Starks, then. We can definitely use your expertise in our own smithy, Luke is overworked and underqualified. Whatever time you can spare during training will be of great use. Tents in the northeast quadrant have been set aside for new arrivals. Have one of the other recruits show you around.” The agent returns his attention to his ledger. 

With that clear dismissal Tony steps away from table, nodding his thanks to the agent and taking hold of Damascus’ reins. Suddenly a man tumbles out from behind a nearby tent, popping to his feet and shoving a hand forward with a mild “Hi.” 

Stark lurches back in surprise, tripping over Dummy and stumbling into his horse. The bland government agent speaks up. “I believe we have already discussed your penchant for scaring the recruits Mr. Barton.”

“Just checking out the fresh meat, Coulson,” the new arrival smiles roguishly. His messy dark blond hair and square jaw permit him an air of manliness, but the goofy grin on his face ruins the effect. “If I listened to everything you told me not to do I never would have met Thor--”

“Who is a foreign dignitary and not one of your drinking buddies.”

“--or caught that chipmunk last week.” Grey eyes meet Stark’s blue. “He’s our mascot. We are the mighty chunks!“ Two very muscular arms punch toward the sky. Tony can’t help but stare at the beautiful biceps on display only inches from his face.

“Barton,” is the tired response, an admonishment and a warning as much as a name.

“Right, follow me,“ the blond moves away toward the area of empty tents. Tony follows, leading Damascus and whistling for Dummy. After a few paces the strange young man introduces himself, “I’m Clint by the way.”

“Tony. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” the charming smile makes a return as they walk. “Hey, just so you know, a lot of these guys are hard asses. The drafts don’t want to be here and some of the enlisted have a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. Fight breaks out? Best to just get out of the way.” As if on cue, angry shouting pierces the air, heavy thuds and groans follow. “They’ll get sorted out when basic starts up.” Walking in silence for a few moments as the army wakes around them, Tony ponders his own likelihood of getting into trouble. Given his tendency to flaunt his genius, it’s highly likely that he’ll insult someone at some point.

“And what if I do get into a fight?”

Clint eyes him critically, sizing him up. “Well, you’ll want to tell the brass, probably. The colonel, he’s not a bad guy but he’s willing to look the other way on a few fights as long as you follow orders. He’s supposed to be running the training program and i’ve heard it’s practically murder by exercise. But, the captain? He runs a pretty tight ship. Doesn’t tolerate infighting and absolutely hates bullies. If you’ve got a problem with somebody, he’s the guy to talk to. Also, Thor. If you need someone roughed up a bit in retaliation first, let Thor know. He’s a foreign consultant and outside of our chain of command so the brass can’t touch him. Gotta love loopholes.”

“Yeah,” Tony responds, “loopholes.” Without loopholes, the last six months of his life would have been very different. As they walk Clint points out the relevant features of the camp--medic, armory, mess tent, the colonel’s tent and the captain's--and less than relevant features. “That's where I caught the chipmunk last week,” he says, pointing to a stand of trees that appears identical to every other stand of trees. 

“The agent said I should help out at the smithy. Do you know where it is?” Tony asks, remembering at the last second to pitch his voice down from his normal register. Clint immediately switches his direction to the north. 

“Yeah, sure, Luke's really cool. He's not an enlisted or a draft, he was placed here. He's the least likely to pick a fight. I don't like to spread rumors but there's word going around that he was sleeping with a wealthy woman and got caught.“ Clint pauses near the blacksmith tent, waiting while Tony hitches Damascus to a small tree. The top of the tent has large gaps where vent flaps are propped open. Small forges like this one rely heavily on the absence of a draft in order to keep the proper heat. Tony approves so far.

“A married woman?“

“Nah, just wealthy,” Clint replies, “and popular in certain social circles.” That much Tony could understand. Someone wanted to get rid of the competition. The forge is so quiet that they are nearly inside the tent before the sound reaches their ears. A tall, broad-shouldered man is bent over the forge, pulling out an iron rod showing the barest hint of a glow. Rising out of his hunch, the dark skinned man turns toward them, light from the forge is reflected in his dark eyes. He smiles in welcome, all of his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Grinning in response, Clint introduces the two men to each other. A wide palm, nearly as big as Tony’s head is thrust forward. Distracted by the smithy around him, Stark misses the gesture. Finishing his inspection of the surroundings, Tony fixes Luke with an intense stare. The smile on the black man’s face disappears quickly as his hand remains suspended between them, untouched.

“You got a problem?” Luke growls out, the muscles of his jaw twitch as he clenches his teeth.

Tony replies, “Yes, actually.” 

Clint’s eyes grow wide, “Hey” he protests. This isn’t how he expected this meeting to go.

Luke towers over Tony, dropping his hand and stepping closer. “You want to go little man?” he threatens with a challenging eyebrow.

“Your metal isn't getting hot enough, you have no flux, and you’re missing half of the tools you need.” Tony crosses his arms as he responds calmly.

“What?” Luke asks with brow furrowed in confusion.

“Plus your anvil’s gonna fall over.”

“What!?” Spinning around to inspect the anvil, Luke appears even more confused.

“The ground there is uneven and unstable. I can see that from here. Feel it.” Tony walks across the tent until he is standing beside the heavy metal object. He jumps in place on the ground and the anvil rocks in place. The green grass and brown dirt doesn’t feel or appear wet but walking over it reveals the hidden spongy texture that belies a water source underground. “We’re probably too close to the marsh. The anvil needs to be moved uh… over here. Ground feels solid here. Now we can put the bellows over where the anvil was and attach a wheel.” Luke watches in baffled silence as Tony paces around the smithy.

“A wheel?” Clint asks, smile returning in the face of Luke’s intense confusion.

“A wheel to push the bellows and keep the forge hot.”

“Who has time for pushing the bellows?” Clint laughs.

“Dummy does,” Tony replied, accompanied by a happy yip from the dog in question. 

Finally pulling himself out of his stupor, Luke asks incredulously, “Who the hell _are_ you?” 

“I’m Tony Stark.” This time a small tanned hand spans the distance and offers a handshake. Luke is slow to albige.

“From Stark Smithworks?” The big man asks.

“That's right.” 

Luke hums in thought, giving Tony another look before shaking the proffered hand. “Well you would be the one to know about bellows and wheels and missing tools,” he concedes. 

“It is what I do,” Tony answers ruefully with half of a smile.

“So they sent you as my replacement?”

“No, no. I’ve been drafted. I’m just going to be helping out. When I’m not being… murdered by exercise.” Tony gives Clint a sly glance as he steals the blond’s words.

Luke laughs long and loud, head tipped back as his chest heaves and shakes. The sound is rich and full; pleasant. Clint chuckles along, shaking his head back and forth in amusement. The blond waggles a finger in Tony’s direction. “See? I knew there was something about you. I have a sense about these things, you know. I can always tell who’s going to be a great friend.” Tony grins in response. He’ll have friends here!

Still chuckling, Luke moves the anvil to a more stable spot before he leaves the tent to search for the blacksmith tools among the boxes of unsorted supplies in another part of the camp. With some help from Clint, Tony manages to cobble together a simple wheel. It’s not a nice vertical one like he has at home. This one requires Dummy to trot in circles around the post, pulling the wheel by a string of rope around his shoulders and chest instead of driving it directly.

The greyhound takes to the new wheel gleefully, trotting around the center pole. The connected bellows quickly urge the forge into a roaring blaze. The intense heat easily transforms hard iron into a malleable substance. Satisfied that everything is working well, Stark signals for Dummy to stop. Still tied to the wheel, the dog flops onto the ground to nap. 

“So you brought your dog to pull a bellows wheel?” Clint asks, pointing to the snoring dog.

“No, i tried to leave him at home. He’s the most loyal dog you'll ever meet. Dummy will do just about anything I ask,” Tony answers. Luke returns a few minutes later with several boxes of heavy tools. The boxes are too heavy for Stark to lift unaided, yet the large black man is holding several with relative ease. As the boxes are set down, Tony stares at the rolling muscles under the skin of Luke's back, barely covered by a sweat sheer tunic. 

Shaking himself out of his revelry, Tony digs into the boxes and pulls out several sets of hammers and tongs. Luke mentions seeing another anvil in storage and leaves the tent again. By midday, several hours later, the smithy is in full operation. Dummy trots in happy circles while Luke and Tony work on separate projects from the request list pinned to a tent pole. The matching anvils sing rhythmically as two sets of hammers pound away at heated metal. Clint wanders away as the two blacksmiths get lost in their work, but returns to drag them away for lunch. Freed from the bellows, Dummy follows the group to the mess tents. 

The line for food is long but moves fast. The stew is bland and nearly tasteless. As the trio sit and eat, Clint waves to a frumpy looking man with curly brown hair that falls into his eyes, calling him over. The man scurries past other soldiers to reach them, bowl clutched tightly to his chest as if someone would steal it. When he finally looks up as Clint makes introductions, Tony is blown away by the beautiful dark green color of his eyes. 

“This is one of the camp doctors, Bruce Banner. He was the first guy I met here. I had a black eye when I enlisted and the captain made me get it looked at.“ The doctor makes a face as he shakes Tony's hand, reacting to the blond’s claim. 

“Clint, half of your face was swollen.” 

“You're overreacting. It was just a love tap,” Clint swings his hands to the side as if sweeping away the remark. 

“A love tap that gave you a black eye?” Tony asks, maybe these guys are more rough and tumble than he thought. Clint ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. 

“The guys I used to work for gave me a going away party when I joined the army. Things just got a little rough,” he explains, trailing off as he spurs a blond head moving through the crowd, at least a head taller than everyone around him. Clint calls out, “Thor! Come meet the new recruit!” his shouting drowns out Bruce’s unhappy comments that bruises are proof they were being too rough. 

“I had heard that your government was drafting more of your men into service,” the tall man with hair as bright and golden as sunlight calls out as he nears their group. “I did not expected one so young.” 

His kind smile is very charming and Tony has to fight his instinct to smile back in favor of protesting loudly, “I'm not that young! I'm just not mountainous like you guys.” In a childish move Tony crosses his arms over the heavy leather apron he had donned while working in the smithy. His father's armor was too heavy and cumbersome for smith work. The strips of cloth wrapped around his torso chafes against the fabric of his shirt.

“I do not understand?” Thor asks, head tilting slightly to one side, quizzically.

Clint chimes in, “He means that you and Luke are big and tall,” his mouth full and words come out muffled.

“Ah, I apologize, I meant no offense. I am Thor Odinson of Asgard. I am still learning your expressions of speech. Clint has been most helpful in this regard.”

“Tony Stark.”

“Ah,” he eyes the smaller man, taking in the blacksmith apron and sooty arms, “from the Stark Smithy? I have heard many things about your family and your metal works. I believe your father once met with my father to discuss Asgardian metallurgist techniques.”

“Yeah, Odin said no to sharing information. Really irritated the old man.”

“From what I have heard, you have done just fine without it,” Thor chuckles. “Are you planning to work the smithy here?“

“Some. I'm really just here for basic training, but the government worker I first talked to said Luke might need an extra pair of hands.”

“An understatement,” Luke grumbles wit an aborted laugh. “Half the troops here aren’t equipped yet.” Tony's eyebrows quirk upwards in surprise. He hadn't realized they were so poorly prepared, especially considering they are expected to join the war effort in a few weeks. 

“Why don't you lend a hand, Thor?” Stark asks, hoping for any extra help. This job is much larger than two men can handle alone. 

“I would if I were able,” Thor smiles ruefully, “I regrettably have no smithing skills. I am only a warrior.” The raven-haired man carefully hides his disappointment behind a shrug and an empty smile. 

“Ironic that the weapon you use is a hammer.” Clint chuckles, setting aside his now empty bowl. Conversation blooms around them and Tony's false smile grows into a real one as the group talks and bonds as new friends. When the two blacksmiths return to the forge after lunch, Clint, Thor, and Bruce tag along. They work well as a team. Thor holds one end of a long iron rod while Tony pounds out a rough shape and explains how to make damascus steel. Luke listens and mimics the strikes, learning how to fold the metals together. Bruce fetches water from the river and then admonishes all of them into drinking some while they sweat in the heat of the tent. Clint perches himself on a box of metal scrap and helps Tony spot his tools when he drops them into the dark grass. 

They work into the night, stopping only to guzzle down stew at supper and take momentary breaks to the nearest patch of bushes. By the time Tony collapses onto a lumpy bed roll in the tent nearest to the smithy and buries his face into a scratchy blanket, three new swords were ready for sharpening. The arms master on the other side of camp has the grinding wheel and would be honing the blades into a fine edge. Tony isn't quite happy about sending his blades to be sharpened by someone else, but there isn't enough time for him to do everything. Delegation will always be an activity that the Stark heir struggles with. At this pace, the army would still be one hundred swords short by the deadline. 

The next few days are filled with endless hours of heat and the sound of vibrating metal. More new recruits trickle in while Tony loses himself in his work, spending more and more time in the smithy. Clint takes it upon himself to release Dummy for breaks and pushes the wheel while the dog rests. Few recruits choose tents near the smithy so the sound of ringing metal in the dark of the night goes largely unnoticed. 

As the sun rises over the mountain on the morning of Tony’s fourth day, training is about to begin. He almost misses it. Clint drags him out of his tent by slender ankles, and ushers him toward the open field south of the encampment. They join up with the lines of men already forming on the wide plain of grass. Two imposing figures stand on a small grass covered mound, placing them a few feet above everyone else. The shorter figure is stocky with a permanent scowl on his face under his sandy brown hair. He’s built for boxing matches-- like Happy, Tony realizes --low center of gravity and strong arms. 

The short man calls them all to attention and introduces himself as Colonel Phillips. As the colonel continues his speech, Tony’s attention wanes. Standing beside the superior officer is a few hundred pounds of gorgeous muscle wrapped in sun-kissed skin and pale blond hair. Stark’s mind drifts into calculations of the shoulder-to-waist ratio in the man standing before the troops. Colonel Phillips concludes his speech by introducing Captain Rogers, drawing Tony out of his revelry.

The captain speaks with conviction. Only someone with a keen eye for detail and years of practice in identifying weaknesses in others would notice the aborted motions to duck his head and fidget. Tony would bet a good sum of money that the Captain's hands are tightly clenched where they rest behind his back. A new Captain, then.

Captain Rogers orders the troops to begin stretching exercises, guiding their movements with examples and verbal explanations. After stretching, they practice some punches and kicks while the captain walks through the crowd, critiquing their techniques. As the blond man approaches Tony’s place in the field, his heartbeat quickens under layers of cotton wraps. A riot of movement in his stomach-- like the flutter of nervous butterflies-- makes itself known. The sensation only increases as the captain remains nearby, watching his troops.

Once satisfied with what he sees, Captain Rogers returns to the small hill and demands the attention of the army before deferring to the colonel. Colonel Phillips takes that opportunity to inform them that they are required to make five laps of the encampment before returning to the field. Shortly before midday, the men finally return to the field. Some are breathing heavily after the stress of running, others collapse onto the ground drenched in sweat. Tony and Clint are both panting, but only slightly. Strength and stamina from pounding metal day in and day out for years made breathing while running easy. Unfortunately his leg muscles are on fire. From the way he was gripping his calves, Clint isn’t much better off. 

After lunch, Colonel Phillips introduced a sort of challenge. At the peak of their tiny mound stands a tall pole, topped with the nation's flag. For such a large object, it is easily missed. The wooden pole easily blending into the woods a few yards behind it. The flag hangs limply in the still air, drawing no attention to itself. “This afternoon you'll be running another ten laps around the camp, then we'll finish with stretching and calisthenics. However, there is a tradition in this camp. If you can remove the flag from this flagpole, you will be excused from laps this afternoon. Few men have accomplished this task. The flag went untouched for seventeen years until Captain Rogers captured it last year. To honor that broken streak, you have seventeen minutes.” Colonel Phillips and Captain Rogers clear the mound as the troops rush forward.

While the soldiers take turns climbing over one another, jumping and reaching for the colorful material, Tony knows he stands no chance in a contest of strength. Better to use his brain instead, he thinks to himself, wandering off toward a nearby stand of trees. A few minutes later, he emerges from the brush carrying a large crooked branch, similar in diameter and height to the one being used in the challenge. The other recruits back away, watching curiously. Captain Rogers approaches him. Already, the nervousness around superior officers is waning in the Stark heir because he barely acknowledges the Captain.

“What are you doing?” the captain asks calmly.

“Well. I was going to use this, um, tree branch to sort of launch myself into the air to snatch the flag, but I’m worried I’ll break it,” Tony answers, bending the stick in his hands, testing it's flexibility. “Then I thought I might use both poles in parallel to sort of climb up between them but,” he trails off for a moment, “now that everyone is out of the way I can see an even easier solution.”

“And that is?” the Captain raises an eyebrow. 

“Remove the braces on the pole and let it topple over.” Tony reaches down and does exactly that. The flagpole falls swiftly toward the ground, into a group of soldiers milling about, quietly talking. Captain Rogers catches the pole in one hand before it can strike any of the men surrounding them. A quiet “oops” escapes from the Stark heir before he catches himself. He clears his throat nervously, careful to keep the pitch of his voice low and masculine. “So, was that how you did it?”

The blond man smiles brightly in response, dazzling Tony. No one should have such perfect teeth. “Yes, that's how I did it. But you mentioned some interesting alternatives.” 

The raven-haired man grunts in response as he reassembles the braces on the flagpole, “Thanks. I also could have used a belt to get up the pole but I kind of need to wear mine.” Tony gestures to the flag and tugs on his waist, illustrating his point unnecessarily. The Captain's smile grows bemused as the Stark heir fidgets and becomes more and more nervous. 

“A belt?” Clint chimes in as he climbs up the small mound. 

Tony sighs in relief at the interruption, happy to find a way to ease the mounting tension. “Yeah, put the belt around the pole and hold both ends. Put your feet on the pole and lean back as you walk up, shifting the belt as you go.” 

“Simple as that?” Clint asks, quirking an eyebrow and tilting his head in disbelief. Rogers appears intrigued, turning his gaze up the pole, assessing the potential in Tony's claim. Apparently satisfied, intense blue eyes turn to meet with his. Beneath all of his wraps and clothes, butterflies erupt in his chest; his heartbeat races.

“Should be, yeah. The belt gives you leverage on the pole,” Stark answers, breathing slowly and willing his heart to return to a normal beat.

“Can you teach me how to climb like that?” Clint asks, distracting the smaller man.

“Sure, why?”

“I'm an archer. Getting some height could be useful.”

“A lesson for another time. With a sturdier pole. This one probably won't hold your weight at the top,” Captain Rogers speaks with his authoritative voice. He turns to Tony one more time, losing his voice to speak quietly. “The army doesn’t always appreciate people who think outside the box, but I do. Keep up the good work.” Behind the Captain, Colonel Phillips nods his head in apparent approval. As Captain Rogers moves away down the mound, Clint edges into the empty space, getting closer to Tony.

“Plus I have some great pranks that only work if I can escape up a tree,” he mutters under his breath. Clint grins when Tony turns his head and levels an incredulous stare at him. “So, what are you gonna do with your free afternoon? Nap? That's what I'd do,” the blond nudges the smaller man. 

“I’m going to work in the smithy, actually.“

“Really? You don't want to take a break from working for the army?“ It was Clint’s turn to stare at him oddly. 

“It needs to be done,” Tony shrugs. “I'll take a break when the army is fully equipped.” 

“You're crazy, man,“ Clint mutters as Stark walks away. “Crazy!” he shouts through his cupped hands. Other soldiers around them watch with amused smiles. Tony doesn't dignify the claim with a response. After all, he probably is crazy. A falcon streaks across the sky as he makes his way through the camp. 

The next day is a near identical repeat of the day before. Clint drags Tony out of his tent by his ankles and the pair rush to the training field. Stretching is followed by calisthenics and then running. By noon, Tony is exhausted. After a quick meal the soldiers return to training. The afternoon is split between martial exercises and practice fights. Stark winds up with bruises all over his body. His opponents leave with barely a scratch on them. After dinner, the blacksmith limps his way into the forge and works long into the night. 

The next day brings a session of swordsmanship training where he dominates the competition before spending another late night in the blacksmith tent. Another day, a new batch of bruises from sparring practice and another late night. On the fourth day of training, as the troops begin stretching in the fields, Captain Rogers approaches the yawning Stark. A pair of swallows can be heard in the distance, their song punctuated by a knocking woodpecker. 

Rogers clears his throat before speaking quietly, “I happened to be up late last night and noticed the smithy was active.” Tony freezes mid-stretch, letting his arms fall loose to his sides. He really didn't want to get into trouble over being helpful. Though, isn't there a saying? No good deed goes unpunished. The Captain continues, oblivious to Starks internal dialogue.

“I want to thank you for putting so much time and effort into creating weapons for the army and I know how important your work is,” Captain Rogers pauses, “but sleep is important too.” The raven haired man quickly stifles the yawn he’s emitting. He's only half successful. The blond captain smiles his dazzling smile, appearing amused. 

“I'll make you a deal. You can skip calisthenics and swordfighting to work in the forge. Your arms don't need work and, let's face it, you probably know more about swordplay than any of us. In return, I want you to attend one running session, take private hand to hand combat lessons with me and, most importantly, get some sleep. A well rested soldier is a well trained soldier.” Tony's own lips quirk up at this sentiment. That sounded like something the Colonel would say. Stark agrees and the pair shake on the deal. The heavy weight and warmth of that hand lingers in Tony's mind for hours after. How would those hands feel on other areas of his body? 

The next morning, after a run around the camp, Tony meets the Captain in a quiet area of the training field for their private lesson. “When you were fighting in the ring,” the blond begins in lieu of a greeting. “I noticed you are having a hard time. Given your stature, the typical boxing style isn't going to work as well for you.“ Tony stifles the urge to defend his height. 

“What do you suggest?”

The Captain settles his hands on his hips. “I'm going to teach you to fight like a girl.” 

“W-what?“ the Stark heir feels his mouth go dry, chest tightening in fear. 

“I wasn’t always this big, you know,” the Captain explains, oblivious to the tension between them. “I used to be a scrawny little thing before Dr. Erskine put me on a special diet. He’s the doctor assigned to the 107th. They left a few months ago. Despite my size I got into a lot of fights as a kid so a friend of mine, a woman friend of mine, taught me how to use my size to my advantage.” Tony eases his hands out of their iron clench, realizing that he hadn't been found out after all. 

“The trick is to use the movements of your opponent to knock them off balance before striking at painful spots on the body,” Captain Rogers explains. It makes sense in Tony's mind. Momentum and pressure points. The reasoning is sound. 

“Let's start with instincts,” the blond continues, “If I try to punch with my right arm what do you think you should do?”

The wind cards through Tony’s short black hair as he takes in the scene. Captain Rogers stands still, right arm thrust forward in a punch. ”Move?” Stark suggests.

"That's one way. However, don't dodge unless you want to be chased. Instead, shift your weight and drop your foot back. Let the punch move past you.” Silence reigns as Tony complies with the direction. “What now?” The Captain continues. 

From his position, less than a foot away from an incredible set of muscles, Tony carefully examines his options. The choice he keeps falling back on doesn't seem like the greatest idea, but the Stark heir isn't exactly the type to make the safest choice. “I kind of want to smack you in the throat,” he offers reluctantly. 

instead of the derisive laughter Tony was expecting, the Captain only nods. “Good idea. If you use your left hand to grab my wrist you can ram the heel of your palm into my neck while you push me around and down to the ground to the side and behind you.” Tony looks behind himself dumbly, slow to follow the events around him that don't fit into his expectations. He finally looks back and blue eyes meet. A smile starts to form. The Captain walks Stark through the steps over and over until he gets it right. They practice this takedown for another half of an hour before moving on. 

“Alright, if I had a sword and you didn't what would you do?”

“Besides get a sword?” Tony sasses back, catching his breath. 

“Besides get a sword,” the Captain smiles. 

“I would...get behind you.”

“Good, how?”

“Around or under your sword arm.”

“Smart. Now show me,” he orders. Each step and maneuver are carefully blocked out and practiced at the beginning but the pair end up chasing each other around the field like two rabbits at springtime. They are both thoroughly enjoying the sparring practice, briefly making contact before separating and returning in equal measure. Eventually, Tony collapses onto the grass, exhausted. The Captain approaches the prone man, his shadow skating over the grass and coming to rest on Stark’s face. 

“Alright, good lesson. Let's call it a day, Captain,“ the trainee pants.

Blond hair glistens and the sun forms a halo. White teeth are just visible in the shadow of his face, betraying his amusement. “Not just yet. You've got another hour before I'll turn you loose for the rest of the day.” Tony groans. The Captain laughs. 

“I'm Steve by the way. When it's just the two of us, you don't have to call me Captain.”

“Oh, sure thing, um, Steve,” he mumbles. Steve, huh? Just the two of us, then just Call Me Steve. Just that easy, huh? While Tony remains a little off balance with this offer, the muscular man easily hefts him up onto his feet. With more relaxed breaths and a calmer heartbeat, Tony faces Steve--Steve!--for their final lesson of the day. 

“Alright,” Steve starts to speak as he gently turns Tony to face away from him. “What if I grab you from behind?” Strong arms wrap around the slighter body. One arm tight against the waist, another across the throat. Tony's heart races. His face flushes. His breath quickens. A pair of swallows shoot across the field, wingtip to wingtip. 

Stark tries to speak through his suddenly parched throat. “Um… d-drop down?”

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, concern evident in his tone, though he doesn't loosen his grip.

“Y-yeah-ah. Yeah.”

The Captain pauses as if gauging the truth of those words. “Go ahead and try to duck down.” As if on cue, Tony struggles. He wiggles and writhes until the arm around his waist is scrambling for purchase but the arm around his neck is like an immovable object. 

With a few more bucks, trying to get free, Tony concedes, “I'm stuck!”

Steve adjusts his position. “This time spread your stance, squat down, push back into me and throw me over your shoulder.” A thousand thoughts go racing through Tony's mind. This intimate position sends tingles through his entire body. It takes several minutes for the Stark heir to compose himself and start breathing normally. He struggles to hide his flushing cheeks while grappling with the Captain. If he notices, Steve thankfully says nothing. 

The pair eventually come to a halt, resting on the shade of a broad laurel tree. Steve is the first to break the silence. “Given your short height, acrobatics would also work well for you. I'm no expert but I can show you what I know.” Tony nods, too breathless for a witty response. Steve smiles and says nothing more.

Life in the camp continues. The weapons cache grows, despite longer sleeping hours, and Tony's fighting skills improve. Steve beams with pride the first time Tony successfully lands a blow in a spar, despite nearly breaking the blond man's nose. The kick had been an inspired move, exactly what he needed to get around Steve’s low to the ground approach. 

Over time, familiarity with these sweaty, hairy, disgusting men grows into a general affection and camaraderie until Tony now rarely notices anything is different between them. If he sees a few too many inches of skin near the river at bathing time, it no longer gathers any of his attention. If the conversation turns a bit lewd and grows full with curse words, it's not like Tony doesn't have a horrible cursing habit himself. 

Weeks later, as the troops stretch in the morning sunlight, a tanager flies over the field, its brilliant red feathers flashing across the pale blue sky. A lone messenger rides into the camp, through the lines of soldiers up to the Colonel. A white envelope exchanges hands and the rider leaves with a salute. There is only one thing that envelope could contain, it sends Tony’s heat racing. Colonel Phillips and the Captain speak quietly for a moment, turning away from the training field. Tony slips on the dew-slick grass as he runs to intercept the Colonel and Captain Rogers before they can retreat to the command tent.. 

“You can't take everyone!“ Tony shouts with a gasp as he reaches them.

“What?” the Colonel asks in surprise, becoming stern almost immediately. “Who do you think you are?” 

“Hold on, Colonel.” Rogers raises one hand to stall his superior officer’s protests. “Why not, Stark?”

“We only have enough swords to outfit about eighty percent of the army.”

“Only eighty percent? These orders can't wait. ” The Colonel sighs and hangs his head and eyes the shorter man, “When can you finish the rest?”

“Assuming you take a blacksmith with you? Luke could do it in a little less than three weeks. I can do it in two. Maybe less.”

Colonel Phillips holds Tony’s eyes, measuring his words. Calculating. “Alright. You have a week to get these soldiers equipped.” He turns his gaze to the tallest among them. “Rogers, I'll take the majority of the troops and you'll follow behind with the rest next week. If you have any preferences for soldiers you want in your platoon, now is the time to say so. ”

“I’ll have a list for you this afternoon, sir. Thank you.” Steve is practically glowing with pride. 

Colonel Phillips turns to leave as Tony sighs, “I can't imagine how bad this would have been if you hadn't let me skip training.”

“And we'll talk about that, too.”

Tony winces in sympathy, realizing his mistake too late. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I stand by my decision. The troops are ready, they just need weapons. What can the rest of us do to help you?” Steve’s question is met with brief skepticism. By now, Tony is well aware that Steve never says things he doesn’t mean.

“I can train some of the more athletic soldiers to hammer out a basic shape to speed up my work. I'll need a water carrier and someone to push the bellows when dummy gets tired. We should build another cart, a sturdy one, to bring the full-sized anvil and keep a running forge. Some of these swords are going to need repairs on the move. I'll give you a drawing of the type of cart I need. I can draw up a list of ingredients to make chemical components that I use in the smithy and a few to make explosives. Clint can train some of you how to gather shafts, fletch arrows and carve the points. If I had the time I would make metal heads for him but we're on a schedule.” Steve’s smile grows as the list stretches on.

“Alright, let’s get to it.“ 

Colonel Phillips and most of the army set out at first light. The camp feels empty. Large patches of grass are all that remain of the troop tents. Most of the camp sits abandoned save the area around the blacksmith tent. The smithy is swarmed with soldiers, the buzz of busy workers fails to mask the sound of ringing iron. Hunching over the anvil, Tony barks orders like he was born to do it, bossing around his fellow soldiers while continuing his smith work. 

Tony works tirelessly for six days, working late into the night on the seventh day, desperate to finish by Phillips’ deadline. As the sun rises over the hill on the seventh day, Stark finishes grinding the last sword into it’s proper angle and sharpness. Today is the day Captain Rogers’ platoon will depart the valley. Tony passes out in the back of the new blacksmith cart and Steve doesn’t wake him, he simply starts the march. Clint leads Damascus and the sleeping blacksmith behind the other supply wagons, taking care to avoid ruts in the road. The rest of the soldiers follow in formation. 

The road to meet up with Colonel Phillips army is long and tiresome. Every night, the Captain has his hands full keeping the soldiers in line. Clint tends to make mischief when he's bored and nothing says boredom like endless walking. Gossip flows among the soldiers, talk of loved ones back home and future dreams mixes with curiosity regarding the Hydra threat. Despite fighting with the organization for a few years, very little information about the mysterious group has been made available to the public. 

Wearily trudging through the loose dirt, struggling up the hill, most soldiers keep their heads down to watch their footing. The mounted riders and cart drivers are similarly focussed on preventing injury to the horses. Clint is the first to notice the thin plume of smoke rising over the hill on the third afternoon, calling it out to the others. The news prompts a cheer through the ranks. Even Steve is smiling.

The Captain is the first to crest the hill. He stops. Walking alongside the smithing wagon, Tony notices the man’s hesitation and takes off at a sprint. Steve never hesitates. Something is wrong. He runs the rest of the way up the hill, Dummy chasing his heels. Coming to a sudden stop next to the Captain and catching his breath, Tony takes in the sight that startled their unflappable leader. Nestled into the valley is the remains of an army camp. A tattered division sign sways in the breeze. The 107th. Steve’s breath hitches. 

All joy is lost as the platoon crests the hill into the shallow valley. The men are silent as they investigate the rows of empty tents, torn open and stained with blood. Smoke rises from a fire pit in the center of the camp. It’s deep and full of half burned logs. The fire is not new, likely days old. Supplies were clearly ransacked, food gone and weapons missing.

“No bodies,” Clint murmurs. “I wonder if Phillips… I don’t see any graves either.” Steve nods in agreement. There is no doubt that the Colonel had been through here. This is the only path through the mountains for a hundred miles. The 107th had been deployed months ago to secure the border that Colonel Phillips’ army was supposed to advance into Hydra territory. If the border had moved as planned then the 107th would have taken their tents to secure the new front line.

“Captain. I don’t think any soldiers were killed here.” Clint dusts off his hands as he rises out of a crouch near the edge of the camp. “There isn’t enough blood here for that and I doubt Hydra would waste time burying bodies. Phillips would have marked their graves if he had.”

“Then what happened?” The Captain’s voice breaks. His eyes burn with feelings of helplessness. Tony watches Steve’s chest hitch and heave with uneven breaths. The poor man is holding back tears. Did the Captain have a father or brother serving in the 107th?

“Captain! Over here!”

Steve turns around, zeroing in on the source of the call. His long legs carry him across the camp, downhill along the path the platoon had just traveled. “What is it? Did you find something?” 

“Wouldn't have seen it if I didn't drop my bag. There's a pair of legs sticking out from under the tree here.” Hidden under the shade of a pine tree, two boots are barely visible in the darkness. They don't move, twisted into an unnatural position. Dark pants, standard army issue, lay in tatters around the bootstraps. No one tries to look any further under the evergreen boughs. The Captain sends for Doctor Banner. 

Tony and Clint watch from the top of the hill as Bruce guides several soldiers through the process of carefully removing the body from it’s resting place. Captain Rogers watches over the activity with a grin determination. He is the first to see the boy’s face. His sigh of relief gusts through the pass, sweet yet guilty. Bruce examines the body carefully while the Captain orders a grave dug near the camp. Tony can see the tense set in Steve’s shoulders when the man passes by.

“Captain?” Doctor Banner calls out, leaving a few soldiers to carry the body to the gravesite. “The boy died of a broken neck. Likely from a fall. I found two arrows in his back.” He holds out the bloody arrowheads and broken shafts, folded in a linen handkerchief. At the word ‘arrow,’ Clint approaches the pair and gently takes the evidence away from the doctor, wandering away from the pair. The Captain nods, wordlessly begging for more information.

“I cannot tell the time of death but the series of events--” the doctor cuts himself off. After a moment of deep thought he finally continues. “If I had to guess, I would say he was running away from the camp and was shot in the back. The shock of the arrow strikes could have caused him to lose his balance and fall down the hillside. He broke his neck on the way down and came to a rest under the tree.” Bruce doesn’t say it outright but everyone within earshot knows that this might have been desertion. 

“Hey, Tony?” Clint calls from nearby, waterskin sitting between his feet. He is crouched over a newly damp patch of dirt and sand when the blacksmith approaches. Turning the arrowheads over in his hands, the archer looks up at his approach and passes one over. With the blood rinsed off, it is easier to see the shape and style of the arrowheads. Carefully examining the edges, Tony works out exactly how each dent and line in the metal was formed. The style isn’t uncommon in their country, but it’s more often found in the mountainous regions, much like where Hydra is currently in hiding.

Clint holds up the shaft when Tony finally looks up from his examination. “There’s paint on the shaft. Someone made these arrows as a trademark. I think I recognize the pattern. What can you tell me about the heads?”

“Mountain style. Not uncommon for us but more common in higher altitudes and colder climates. I don’t think it’s one of ours.”

Clint rises from his crouch swiftly calling out to the Captain, drawing him away from the doctor to view the evidence. “These arrows aren’t ours. The shaft was painted white with red lines along the middle, see?” He passes over the arrow he was holding, pointing out the small lines of red along the broken edge. The pale white paint flakes away under Steve’s fingers. “And Tony says the heads are more likely from a cold climate. If the arrows were fired by the person they were painted for, then we’re in trouble.”

“This paint isn't right, these pigments were mixed by an amateur,” Captain Rogers mumbles, voice barely audible over the rising wind. He finally asks a question, pitching his voice over the ambient sounds around them. “Who do you think this is?”

“I think it's the guy who taught me archery. He’s a… mercenary I guess. He wouldn’t join Hydra because of their cause, but because they’re paying him. If Hydra is paying for extra soldiers and they could afford Buck’s rates, then they’ve got deep pockets.” Steve flinches at the name. 

“Buck?” He asks. 

“Buck Chisholm. If he's painting his arrows that means they're paying per kill, and he's probably competing against a dozen other archers. Maybe a few regular mercenaries, too. If we find bodies with odd marks or pieces missing we'll know for sure”

“How do you know so much about mercenaries?“ Steve asks, curiosity and caution at war on his face. 

“I was one. For maybe ten minutes. I took issue with being asked to kill innocent people,” Clint replies, turning to stare at Tony intently. He looks like he is searching for answers that Tony doesn't know he has. 

The tense silence finally snaps when the blacksmith barks out. “What?” 

“Nothin’, forget it.” Clint beats a hasty retreat, leaving Steve and Tony to exchange mutual looks of confusion. 

Before the nameless boy is buried, Captain Rogers sits beside the body as it lays in the shallow grave and sketches. He draws the boy’s face filling in what the insects and animals have taken and leaving him whole again, on paper at least. Despite the macabre subject, Tony is enthralled. Who knew a soldier as manly as the Captain was such a skilled artist? 

Within an hour of completing the burial, the troops are heading further into the mountains. Now that the location of the border is in question, they could run into Hydra soldiers at any time. All of the talking and gossip that had dominated the trip up to the area was a distant memory. Soldiers walk with hands on their swords. Clint and a few of his fellow archers are walking with bows out and arrows at the ready. Tony fans a small flame out of the forge embers in the back of the blacksmith cart. His explosives could be very useful in these mountain passes.

They march for two hours before another column of smoke makes an appearance between the mountains and trees. The Captain signals for Clint and another archer to go ahead as scouts. Moving as silently as possible, Clint's blond head vanishes into the trees for several minutes. The sound of footsteps on the gravel path sets everyone on edge, and soldiers draw their swords in fearful anticipation. 

Clint jogs into view, alone, and brings good news. The campfire belongs to Phillips and his army camp. Captain Rogers leads his platoon up the path toward the camp. Spirits are high, and the tension bleeds out of the soldiers as they breathe a collective sigh of relief. The camp appears normal when they arrive, though the soldiers seem sad somehow. Colonel Phillips greets the Captain in the center of camp. “Good that you made it here. We need the extra manpower.”

“We found the empty camp and feared the worst, sir.” The Colonel nods and leads the way into the command tent nearby. The open tent flaps offer little privacy and permits the chill mountain air to sweep through. Tony starts helping to unload a nearby cart. Despite the wind and bustle of the camp, it isn't difficult to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“We missed the raid by only a day,” Phillips explains. “A few soldiers had been checking the hunting traps nearby and managed to avoid capture. They reported that the 107th was marched out of the pass as prisoners. They didn't think that anyone died in the raid, though several were injured.”

“There was at least one death. We found a body under a tree. It looked like he had been shot from behind while fleeing down the pass. Barton identified the arrows and he thinks they belong to an assassin hired by Hydra.”

“If Hydra is hiring assassins--” Silence falls in the tent. Quiet words flow between the officers, too low to be heard by the soldiers working outside. Tony tries to listen in, edging closer to the tent, but is distracted when Luke runs up and greets him with a hearty handshake. Before the pair can exchange greetings, Captain Roger’s voice rises over the din.

“Sir, what efforts will we be making to retrieve the 107th?” His question is loud enough and intriguing enough for even Luke to listen in. Several other soldiers stop their work. Unfortunately, Colonel Phillips’ answer is inaudible.

“But, sir!” Steve exclaims suddenly. The Colonel responds in a stern and loud tone, clearly nearing the end of his patience.

“Rogers, those men are thirty miles behind enemy lines, through a steep and dangerous pass, hidden in a maze of caves and guarded by countless Hydra soldiers. Any rescue attempts would result in more lives lost than we could possibly save.”

“Sir!?” Anger seethes through the title.

“End of discussion, Captain. Dismissed--” The Colonel bursts through the tent flaps, and points at a nearby soldier. “You, find Coulson and send him in.” The young man scurries off and Tony breathes a sigh of relief that he and Luke hadn’t been spotted. It was blatantly obvious that they had been listening in.

Steve exits the tent behind the Colonel, barely resisting the urge to shove his shoulder into his superior officer as the man returns to the tent. Tony watches Steve’s face closely as the Captain stares at the mountain, deep in Hydra territory, where the 107th is being held captive. A strange look overtakes his face as he turns around. The Captain walks away and Tony is compelled to follow, an unknown force pulling him along.

They pass through the majority of the camp, the Captain and his shadow. The supply tent is usually occupied by a soldier assigned to watch over the supplies and prevent theft. It’s empty now. The arrival of Captain Rogers’ platoon brought additional supplies that needed to be counted and sorted into their proper places. Steve vanishes inside and Tony pauses in the doorway.

“Captain? Are you alright?”

“No,” he responds, “The 107th is captive behind enemy lines.” As if that explains everything. In a way, it does. Tony had suspected that there is someone important to the Captain assigned to the 107th.

“So, what are you…?” Tony watches Steve pull out a spare backpack and pack some rations inside it. “Do you plan to walk in there by yourself?” 

“I’m not incapable of defending myself, Tony,” He barks, brushing against the shorter man roughly as he exits the tent.

“What are the odds that the 107th is still alive? Most of them are probably dead by now,” The black-haired man begs the Captain to see reason. The taller man whirls in place, shouting right in Tony's face. 

“You can’t know that!” 

Steve’s chest heaves. His blue eyes are clouded, distant. Behind him, several figures walk into view, slowing as they see the confrontation. Tony sighs, “Did Colonel Phillips have a plan?”

“He’s not fighting at all. I have to at least try.”

“Steve, you can't--”

“The hell I can’t! I outrank you, Stark!” Tony barely refrains from flinching. Steve sighs, “I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Then I won’t stop you. I’m coming too.”

“What?”

“And I, dear Captain.” Thor speaks. He smiles calmly from where he stands a few feet back.

“I’m in,” Luke speaks up. He had gathered the others when Tony followed the Captain.

“Me too,” Clint chimes in. Steve can only stare incredulously at all of them. The archer grins, “Seriously? You think we’d let you go alone?”

Bruce clears his throat. He pokes his head out from behind the others, tentatively moving forward. “I should probably tag along. If the soldiers need medical attention it’s best that they get it sooner rather than later.”

Steve smiles. He lifts his head, squares his shoulders and addresses them with conviction, “Grab your gear.”

Tony and Luke raid the blacksmith tent and cart. Carefully packing Tony’s specially formulated explosives. Damascus whinnies in distress when Tony walks away but stays tethered to the stable post. Dummy follows along like he always does. There’s really no stopping him. Steve and the others are waiting near the edge of the camp. The mountains loom ahead as cold wind blows through the pass. Fingers of chill air search out every seam in their clothing. Captain Rogers gives Dummy a glance as the dog shivers in the cold. “Keep him quiet.” Tony nods.

The six men and their canine companion set out from the camp as surreptitiously as possible. Several soldiers see them leave the camp but no one thinks to report it. Steve is expecting several days of marching ahead, thirty miles of mountainous terrain takes significant time to cross. Fog rolls through the pass as the evening sets in. The group searches for a safe space to settle in for the night but the path refuses to level out. They finally crest the top of the slope and stop. Rising out of the mists before them, nestled in the shallow valley of two close mountain ranges, is a massive stone structure.

“It's a fortress,” Clint whispers. A flame is lit in one of the many towers. It is the only flame they can see, although the doorways and windows are lit by a gentle glow. The curtains and heavy wooden doors are hiding most of the candlelight. 

Steve draws an unsteady breath. “There isn’t a recorded Hydra encampment for at least another twenty miles. No one knows this place even exists.” Excitement laces his tone. “The government needs to know just how close Hydra is.” 

“Aye,” Thor murmurs, taking off his strangely rectangular backpack. Steve and the others look on curiously. Below the cloth covering is a wicker cage. Inside is a dark bird, silent except for a gravely coo.“‘Tis one of my father’s ravens. He will return to his roost in Phillip’s encampment. It is directly beside Mr. Coulson’s tent. No doubt our absence has been noticed by now.” Thor spends a few moments carefully crafting a message. The last of the brightness in the sky is just enough to write by. 

Twinkling stars make an appearance in the cloudless sky. Fog persists, lying low to the ground. As the last of the sun fades from the sky, Thor’s raven takes flight with their message. Steve briefs the team on his new plan to skirt around the fortress in two teams while gathering information about the structure and its inhabitants. Before the group can break up, Clint notices a pair of lanterns emerge from the front doors of the main keep. Through the gloom they can barely make out the shape of one man guarding the front gate. The waiting guard accepts one of the lanterns, setting it near his feet while the man with the remaining lantern sets out into the darkness. 

Light from the remaining lantern bounces off the smattering of snow, casting shadows through the sparse trees in the valley. Tony mutters, partially to himself, about the brainless guard. The path he is taking is nowhere near the fortress, meandering off through the trees toward the pass leading deeper into the mountains. Steve whispers his agreement. The path makes no sense. Rogers and Stark share a small smile in the moonlight. 

“Wait. Look,” Bruce points into the darkness. The gray face of the mountain shines brightly in the lantern light. Passing under a rocky overhang, the guard stops moving. The fog lifts, releasing its grip on the landscape and the rusty iron gates the Hydra thug is standing in front of make their appearance.

“Strange to be guarding a cave at night.” Thor's voice rumbles or of the darkness. 

“How much you want to bet the prisoners are in there?” Clint asks, an unimaginably chipper tone

‘I’d say that’s a good enough place to start looking,” Steve murmurs, turning in place to examine their surroundings. “Dr. Banner? Stay here. We'll send any prisoners we find up this way. If we're not back by dawn, return to the camp without us. The rest of you are with me. New plan. We breach the mountain first then we’ll take the fortress.”

“Just the five of us? How?”

“It won’t be just us.”

With a slightly disbelieving gaze Tony and the others follow the Captain into the dark valley. The crossing takes time. They walk quietly to prevent the guards from spotting them, watching their environment and ready to defend themselves if necessary. When the wall of the mountain looms high above them and the outline of the guards shadow rises in the mist, Steve slows to a stop. The fog is dense, too thick to see far with lantern light, and the damp night air is causing the candle to sputter and dim. They creep closer until the guard is finally visible, lantern hanging on a hook and thick rope in his hand. Thick muscles interwoven with scars stand out in relief, starkly visible in the candlelight shining down on him.

“Well, he’s a lot bigger than I expected…” Tony grumbles, keeping as quiet as possible.

“Not that big,” Luke comments from directly behind him.

“I’ve fought bigger,” Thor retorts.

“I’m more concerned with the enormous bell rope he’s got in his hand.” Steve shifts his weight, trying to see higher above the tree line, tracing the line of the rope into the sky. “I can’t see the bell from here but I’m betting it’s pretty big.”

“Any ideas to get through this guy?” Clint asks.

“Yeah,” Tony answers, “I think I do.“ 

Tony takes hold of the cloth collar around Dummy’s neck, leaning close and whispering into his ear. “Good boy, Dummy. You see that guy? He's got a treat for you.” Dummy whines softly, trembling in excitement. Tony injects as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible while whispering. “You want that treat? Huh? You want it? You want it? Huh? You want the treat? Treat? Treat?” Tony eases his grip on the collar, Dummy lunges forward. “Go get it!”

Despite the bright circle of lantern light the Hydra guard doesn’t see him coming. Like a phantom through the snow and mist, Dummy sprints across the entire distance and launches himself at the man. He falls like a sack of potatoes, knocking himself unconscious against the rock wall. Tony and the others rise out of their crouch.

“Impressive.” Steve grins at Tony. Stark’s mouth goes dry for a moment.

“You better get a piece of dried meat out of your pack or you're next,” he finally replies. Dummy, having found no treats, bounds back toward the group where Steve happily presents him with a piece of jerky and a pat on the head. Approaching the entrance cautiously, Clint frisks the unconscious guard for his keys before quickly tying him up. They unlock the gate and expose the dark and silent tunnel that will lead them into the heart of the mountain. Tony orders the dog to stay behind, on guard. 

Eerie silence takes over them as they enter the tunnel. Deep in the darkness a shuffling sound rises, sending chills through the rescue party. A single torch in the entryway is all the light they have available. They will have to make due. The tunnel forks after only a few feet. The sounds of shuffling and water droplets echo from both directions. 

“This place will become a maze in the dark. Smart for keeping prisoners in their places,” Thor comments from the very back of their group.

“Cruel you mean,” Steve grumbles at the front. It’s impossible to say if Thor heard the response over the ambient noises around them.

“Better let them out then,” Tony soothes. He rests a hand on Steve’s back, urging their leader forward. They walk through the dark. The shuffling noises get louder as they continue further through the winding tunnels. Darkness surrounds them, punctured by Steve’s lantern. His silhouette is all that they can see.

Around the final corner iron bars come into view. They gleam and glint in the light. Beyond the wall of bars dozens of men lay on the ground. In the dim candlelight, no one moves. Finally, in the far back, one man opens his eyes. The light reflects off of them, glittering in the darkness. He shuffles to stand and moves through the bodies littering the floor. He grabs onto the bars, dark skin standing out against the rusted iron. His dark eyes take in the rescue party. A grin splits his face as he takes them in.

“If you're Hydra, tell me now so I can spit on you with confidence.“

“Just spit? You're imagination is lacking, Wilson.” another voice answers out of the darkness. 

“Rhodey?” Tony asks incredulously. He would know that voice anywhere, even though he hadn't heard it in years. The man in question shuffles upright in surprise. Before he could ask any questions himself, Steve takes over control of the situation.

“We're here to rescue you. Is this everyone?”

“No, Hydra separated us. I think they’re in the other side of these tunnels,” Wilson answers as Clint finds the door to the cell and unlocks it. The door squeaks open on rusty hinges. The soldiers that had begun to stir while they were talking are now scrambling to their feet at the sound. The men rush toward the gate. Steve watches the men shuffle through the door, searching each face intently. Thor, standing at the back of the group, begins to lead the soldiers back to the entrance through the darkness. With one hand on the wall, it won’t be difficult to find his way back to the entrance of the tunnels.

Rhodes and Wilson are the last out. Sam Wilson introduces himself to the Captain as he leaves, stepping aside as James Rhodes steps out and stares curiously at the short black-haired man who called him by name.

“Stark? Is that-” Rhodey shakes his head, glancing at the Captain briefly. “You look nothing like I remember,” he admits. Tony bites his lip anxiously. Steve looks between the two men as the others start toward the exit. “Tony-” half of a smile steals across Rhodey’s face, “did you get shorter?” Stark laughs in relief reaching out to hug his friend tightly. Finally moving toward to the start of the tunnel, Tony introduces Steve and Rhodey.

When they finally return to the fork in the tunnel near the entrance, they find Thor and Clint waiting. Thor cheerfully informs them that Luke is outside, sending the injured to Bruce across the valley and gathering the rest for a raid on the fortress. Steve eagerly leads the way down the other fork, moving fast in his search for the remaining captives. The second tunnel is longer than the first and several soldiers are sitting up talking when they arrive. 

Steve wastes no time. “This is a rescue mission. We found a group of soldiers down a different fork. Is this everyone else?”

“This is the only cell on this side. They did take a few men away just before dinner. Haven't seen them come back yet.“

Clint unlocks the door and men begin shuffling out toward the tunnel exit. Steve continues searching every face that passes under the light of his torch. “I'm looking for James Barnes, is he here?”

“He was one that was taken.” A short and thin blond haired man steps forward, sidling up close to the bars as his fellow soldiers pass by. “Hydra was just picking people at random. Barnes shoved me out of the way and took my place.”

“Do you know where they were going?“

A burly man answers. “They took the doctor into the dungeons of the castle when we first got here. Maybe that's where they were taken.“ The Captain nods, resolutely.

“Alright, we’re heading out. Anyone injured is to make their way across the valley. We have a doctor waiting in the pass. Anyone willing to fight is welcome to help us take out the fortress.“

Tony clears his throat and chimes in. “Actually, I have an idea about that.” He swings his pack off of his shoulder and lifts the flap to reveal several pots of explosives. “Let’s make sure they can’t come back here when we’ve gone,” Tony smirks. Steve smiles back.

Breaching the fortress walls is easier than expected. Only one guard stands at the gate and another three are patrolling the enormous courtyard. Each guard is taken out silently and with little effort. The newly liberated soldiers locate the armory and pass out every weapon they can get their hands on. The main keep is scarcely populated and the swarm of soldiers easily eliminate all the guards they encounter. No alarm sounds. Hydra is completely unaware of their presence. Tony stops at the base of the tallest tower, readying his explosives while the troops explore the upper floors and eliminate any opposition they find. 

With the explosive set and ready to light, Tony steps back to take in the scene around him. It is quiet. Despite numerous fights going on in the upper floors, very little sound makes it through the thick stone walls. For a moment he considers the possibility that his charge won't be big enough. Footsteps rush up behind him suddenly. Whirling with well-trained precision, Stark l lands two strikes to his opponent before the garbled “Wait, it’s me!” informs him that the person beneath his fists is Steve.

“Wha--Steve? Did you find everyone else in the dungeon?”

“No. There was no one down there. We haven’t found the prisoners yet.” Frustration colors his tone. He grips his blond hair tightly until Tony pulls his arm away.

“We’ll find them Steve. Give me a hand carrying this charge inside. I’m going to light this one first to destabilize the structure, then the second should blow the tower over onto the rest of the keep,” Tony explains as he carefully shuffles a bundle inside the building. “I hope,” he amends.

“You hope? Is ther-- Did you hear that?” Steve pauses where he stands. The sound repeats, a person is calling out an unknown phrase. It is deep and echoing, as if someone was below them in a very tall room.

“Yeah. Sounded like it was… Is the dungeon right below us?” Tony asks, settling his explosives into the correct position before turning to look at Steve.

“No, there must be another way down.” Steve steps around and only finds the stairs leading up the tower. Tony taps his feet on each brick below his feet. The ground is solid, no trap doors. He shifts his feet again to test another section of the floor and stumbles into the wall beneath the upper stairs. The wall thuds as if it were hollow. 

“Here!” Tony cries out in excitement. “This is a false wall.” Steve runs over and together they push open the heavy door that was hidden beneath the staircase. The sound of shouted orders grows louder, the echoes of many many footsteps finally reaches their ears. All of the Hydra soldiers they couldn't find in the upper floors of the fortress are down here. 

Moving in tandem, Steve and Tony carefully creep down the stairs until the cavernous room is finally visible. There are dozens upon dozens of men lining up in the dark room. One man paces in front of them, issuing orders in a dark tone. His brightly colored coat stands out among the numerous Hydra soldiers wearing black and dark gray. Tony drops his voice to the barest whisper, pressing his lips close to Steve’s ear. “Who’s the lunatic in red?”

Steve twists around to reciprocate the motion, breath ghosting across Tony's cheek as he answers. “Must be Johann Schmidt. He’s the leader of Hydra.”

“Probably should try and take him out then?”

“... As much as I’d like to, we need to focus on getting everyone out of here safely.”

“Well lucky us, since he seems to be evacuating,too.”

“But he's not in a hurry. Let's start looking in that hallway across from the stairs.” Moving in time with the marching soldiers, the are able to mask their footsteps while they creep through the dark. The first hallway is empty. So is the second. The third hallway has a room full of maps and other planning materials. Tony scoops up as much as he can carry, tucking the precious papers into his shirt for safekeeping. At the end of the hall a locked door stops their search. 

Carefully timing his kicks with the ongoing steps of Hydra soldiers, Steve breaks the door down as stealthily as he can. A balding, mousy man scrambles to his feet as the door splits open and dangles off of its hinges. He squint at them in the darkness. Steve sighs in pleased relief. “Dr. Erskine!”

“Steven. Thank God.”

“Have you seen any of the others?”

“Yes, a few, down that hall,” he replies, pointing toward the next hallway. Steve practically vibrates, appearing very eager to move on.

“Tony, get him out of here.”

“If you’re not upstairs in ten minutes I’m coming back for you.”

“Won’t take that long.” Steve smirks as he heads out of nearly silent footsteps. Tony leads the way back to the staircase. The soldiers continue to line up into formation. They don't seem to be in any hurry. Stark pauses at the base of the stairs as Dr. Erskine moves ahead of him. The doctor turns back before Tony can even open his mouth. 

“I am fine. Go help him. There are many rooms to check.” Tony smiles, holding in a chuckle. The man took the words right out of his mouth. With an irreverent salute, Stark turns his back on the stairs and trots off into the dark past the lines of Hydra soldiers. A whispered, “be careful," follows him. 

Troop movements slow his progress a bit and the hallway is empty when Tony finally arrives. Distant murmuring can be heard down the hall and the first door on the right is standing wide open. He pokes his head inside --hoping to see Steve-- but finds the room empty. Behind the door, easy to miss, Tony spots a ring of keys. Grinning, he snatches them up and palms them, careful to keep them from clanking together. Testing the door directly across the hall, Stark quickly unlocks it and steps inside. 

A woman with fiery red hair falling in curls down to her waist stands in the middle of the room with her arms outstretched. The pair stare at each other. Blue eyes meeting green, both surprised. The woman drops her hands to her sides. The manacles around her wrists rattle against the chain linking them. Tony looks down and sees she is chained to the wall by one ankle. A single key sits on a low table between them, just beyond her reach. Stark takes her in for a moment, really looking closely. She wears plain clothes, pants and a shirt. What is strange is the quality of the fabric, obvious from across the room. This woman has wealth, yet dresses as a worker would. The shirt and pants are made of fine cloth, tailored to the unique shape of her body. 

Tony approaches the table and finally notices the Hydra agent laying face down in a small puddle of blood. He looks from the body to the woman. She raises her head defiantly. This woman is dangerous. Tony picks up the key slowly, deliberately. Green eyes watch him, their gaze feeling sharper than his father's blade. He approaches cautiously, knowing he will release her. Any enemy of Hydra is a friend of theirs. He briefly considers tossing the key so she can free herself but decides against it. Trust is earned after all.

Carefully, in total silence, Tony reaches out his hand for one of hers. When her pale white hand is finally in his, he immediately releases the metal cuff. He repeats the act with her other wrist and ignores the open palm she holds out for the key. Blue eyes meet green. She scowls at him when he hesitates. Finally, Tony kneels and releases the final manacle, releasing the woman. When he stands and looks at her again she seems confused.

“I trusted you not to hurt me when you had the chance. Now I’m trusting you not to sell us out to Hydra. You’re free to go, but you’re also welcome to come with us.”

“Natalia,” is all she says, moving toward the door and dismissing him completely. He smiles and suppresses a laugh.

“Na-- Tony,” he answers, catching himself at the last moment. She looks over her shoulder at him for a moment, arching one elegant eyebrow. Turning back to the doorway, she carefully looks both ways before heading deeper down the hallway, away from the continuing sound of marching footsteps. 

Several more doors stand open down both sides of the hall as Tony follows Natalia through the dim light. Her red hair seems to glow, and she moves silently despite the uneven stone floor. Stark makes more noise than he would like to admit. They pass by a few offices and a medical room with a table and broken leather belts. Whoever was being held here had been freed not too long ago. The fragmented belts still swing from the table edges. In the last open room they find Steve, pulling in-effectually at the iron cell door holding the last of the soldiers prisoner. Some of these men appear to be in relatively poor health, a few are coughing and several are shaking despite the relatively mild underground temperature. One man is watching from the corner, holding himself awkwardly as if his ribs were injured. He glances up at their approach and his eyes light up when he sees the red-headed Natalia. 

Steve continues to strain against the door, attempting to silently break it open. Tony takes pity and silently offers the large key ring he had found. The Captain startles at Tony's sudden presence before eagerly using the keys to unlock the cell door. The final few soldiers happily shuffle out of their cell and start to leave the room before Natalia stops them in the doorway, blocking their path. 

Before Tony can open his mouth to ask what she’s doing, Natalia presses a finger to her pursed lips, a request for silence. She held one finger aloft, tapping the air in an unknown rhythm with one ear turned into the hallway. In the distance, slow footsteps were approaching their location, each step matching a silent tap of her finger. Hidden among the sounds of numerous other footsteps, it was nearly impossible to distinguish these steps from the others. If not for Natalia’s apparently amazing hearing, they may have been caught unawares.

Steve approaches the door, pressing Natalia out of the way gently. As the unlucky Hydra soldier glances into their open doorway Steve grabs him by the front of his shirt and hurls him across the room. His head collides with the hard stone floor. He doesn’t get back up.

They leave in as much of a hurry as they can manage. Steve leads the way back to the stairs and out to freedom. Natalia takes up position at the rear of the group until Tony lines up behind her, preparing the last explosive he brought with him as they walk. He settles the explosive at the bottom of this staircase and carefully lights a spare piece of fuse. With a glance upward, and a careful ear Tony estimates that most of their troops are above ground. In the distance Steve calls for all men to fall back. Tony ignores the sounds of running feet and begins to light each explosive in sequence. First he lights the long fuse on the bomb at the underground staircase before running up to the exit. 

He nearly collides with Natalia at the top of the stairs. She slams the door shut behind him. The next bomb is lit inside the base the tower. Natalia runs ahead, sprinting through the open gates while Tony follows her out of the open door. Tied to the wall above his head, carefully placed to send the tower toppling backward onto the fortress and collapse it, he lights the last fuse. He tosses the spare fuse away as he rushes to leave the fortress. The moment he passes through the gate in the wall, unseen trap doors just outside the fortress wall burst open on either side of him. Hydra soldiers run up the hidden stairs.

Turning on his heel and skidding in the snow covered dirt, Tony charges and rams the first Hydra soldier. They fall, knocking back other soldiers in their path down the stairs. Before he can fall down after them a strong hand grabs the back of Tony’s shirt and hauls him away, allowing the trapdoor to slam shut on the fallen Hydra soldiers. A quick glance to the side as he regains his footing shows the soldier with injured ribs and Natalia repeating the process with the other trap door. An owl takes flight from the nearby trees, startling the pair into movement. Steve shoves him away from the fortress, calling for the others to continue the escape. 

Muffled shouting filters through the closed trap doors. The sound of doors opening and boots racing up stairs reaches their ears.There are other exits. Several Hydra soldiers round the corner of the wall, giving chase and brandishing swords. Behind them a deep booming explosion shatters the evening quiet. Then a second explosion splits the darkness. Flames lick the stone walls of the tower, setting doors and windows ablaze. The Hydra soldiers stop their chase and turn to flee through the trees. 

Tony glances at the fortress over his shoulder as he continues to run. The final explosion destroys the base of the tower. Time seems to freeze as the tower falls. The several floors of the main keep collapse under the weight. Flames rise even higher. Hydra soldiers buzz around the edges of the walls like angry hornets. An enormous blast erupts out of the keep. It isn’t one of Stark’s bombs, there must have been other explosives stored on site. 

Steve and Tony pause at the edge of the hill that leads into the pass. The fortress burns. The walls fall and Hydra soldiers continue their disorganized scramble. Shouting men and the roar of flames are muted by distance. Dozens and dozens of men stand in the pass, watching the castle burn in the darkness. The red of the flames casts evil shadows across the mountain face like many black arms reaching out for them. Tony and Steve make their way into group, passing Clint as he stands guard with his bow. Men watching the fortress burn part ways for them. In the center of it all, Dr. Banner and Dr. Erskine huddle over some of the injured men.

“We need to get moving. Are they good to walk?” Steve asks, his eyes scan the men around them until they rest upon the man with injured ribs that had followed them through the camp. Banner and Erskine both agree that the men can walk but a few of them will definitely lag behind. “Alright, thank you doctors. Thor! I’m taking the rear guard, you lead the way back. Let's get everyone out of here.” Thor nods once before jogging away, ushering soldiers as he moves. Luke follows at a sedate pace, encouraging more men to leave the pass.

The distant shouting of Hydra soldiers begins to draw closer to their position. Steve returns to the edge of the pass overlooking the valley and the fortress. The man cradling his ribs follows, Tony hot on his heels. Given that the Captain had stopped asking about his friend, Tony guesses that this man following Steve around like a puppy is James Barnes. As they arrive at the edge of the group, Clint fires off a few arrows. Several men stand nearby with pilfered weapons, eyes finally turned away from the burning castle. Several Hydra soldiers are making their way toward their position. Clint’s arrows take down the enemies before they get too close. 

Captain Rogers gives the order to retreat down the pass. There aren’t enough Hydra soldiers to pose much of a threat. The last of the soldiers capable of evacuating under their own power move through the pass. Doctor Banner ducks under the arm of one man nursing a deep gash on his leg. The pair hobble down the pass, moving at a decent pace. Doctor Erskine remains, hovering over a man who has fallen unconscious. Steve takes the soldier in his arms, pulling him over one shoulder to carry down the mountain. 

The group lags behind the retreating army. Clint fires more arrows at the Hydra soldiers giving chase through the pass. They lose them through a copse of crooked trees with evergreen leaves. Erskine hovers near Steve’s back, trying to rouse the unconscious soldier. Tony draws his sword and keeps a closer eye out for approaching Hydra soldiers. Clint holds an arrow half drawn and ready to fly. 

Out from behind a tree, a Hydra soldier fires an arrow at the group. The metal tipped arrow digs into the ground inches from their heels. Clint lets an arrow fly. A shout of pain is proof that his shot from the hip made contact. Undeterred, the Hydra soldier drops to one knee from behind a tree, Clint’s arrow embedded deep in his thigh. Both archers let arrows fly. Clint’s arrow sinks deep into the man’s eye socket and he falls down dead.

The Hydra arrow slices through the air above Clint’s ear, speeding past toward the fleeing Captain. Erskine turns as the enemy soldier falls to the ground, alerted by the sound. The arrow pierces his chest and blood blooms across his chest. He stumbles back against a many branched tree. His arm drapes against a low hanging branch. Steve stops and runs to the doctor’s side. Barnes and Stark follow. 

Clint stops his retreat, covering the others as they crouch next to the doctor. Captain Rogers lowers the unconscious soldier to the ground. The short drop into the dirt wakes him enough for Barnes and Stark to pull him upright and steady him over their shoulders. They wait for Steve and the Doctor. Footsteps from approaching Hydra soldiers sound far enough away to offer them some measure of security. 

With a shaking hand, Erskine taps the center of Steve’s chest slowly. After drawing a rattling wet breath he coughs, blood falling from the corner of his mouth. The life leaves him. His head falls into the cradle of two juniper branches. Captain Rogers pants slightly, staring at the lifeless body for a long moment before reaching forward with trembling arms to pick up the man. The weight, both physical and emotional, must be great yet Steve carries it well.

They continue their retreat, slowed greatly by the extra weight they carry. The Hydra soldiers give up their pursuit after Clint takes down another two of their number. They march through the night into early morning. Phillip’s camp comes into view as the sun rises over the distant mountains. Voices of their fellow soldiers reach their ears, expressing surprise at seeing the missing return. Word reaches Phillips. The Colonel meets their group. Thor shows no fear in marching back into the camp. He is safe from any military discipline. Luke and Clint and Dr. Banner avoid Phillips’ eyes as they help the wounded. Tony and Barnes edge past the Colonel, watching warily as he approaches the slow moving Captain. 

With extreme care, Steve lowers Doctor Erskine’s body onto a bedroll. The lifeless body rests between the two men. Colonel Phillips sighs. He looks back at the soldiers of the 107th now mingling among his own army. Dr. Erskine, a young soldier, and the captain of the 107th are the only casualties. Over one hundred men were just rescued from Hydra’s clutches. Tony holds his breath and Barnes stands beside him, motionless. They wait to hear Steve’s punishment. Colonel Phillips cocks his head to one side for a moment before leveling a finger at the Captain. He says nothing.

By refusing to order a punishment the Colonel is practically offering glowing praise. The pair exchange quiet words for a moment. Steve nods as Phillips leaves him standing alone over the doctor's body. Tony turns to nudge a few nearby soldiers, quietly asking them to fetch the government official to report the death. Coulson is frighteningly efficient. He would know to order a grave dug before coming to write the death certificate. For camp morale, it is best to bury the dead quickly. 

Tony and Barnes flank Steve on either side. They watch over the doctor. No one speaks. After several minutes, Bruce edges over to their vigil. He gestures to Barnes and his slightly hunched posture, “Let me tend to your ribs.”

Barnes shakes his head, “No, I'm fine. I'm not leaving Stevie.”

“I've got him,” Tony responds quietly. Steve says nothing. Tony stands steady and doesn’t back down from the dark glare Barnes gives him. “Get yourself looked at. I'll keep him company.” Bruce tugs the injured man away, guiding him to the medical tent. As soon as they are alone Tony can only stand there in awkward silence. He can’t think of anything to say. Words feel cheap. Condolences taste like ash in his mouth. In the end, he says nothing, simply resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

They stand together until Coulson arrives. They carry the body through the camp in a solemn procession. After Abraham Erskine is buried, Steve finally lifts his head. Tony smiles sadly at him, still standing by his side. Steve looks around and asks “Where’s Bucky?”

“Who?” 

Tony lags behind, confused as Steve walks back through the camp heading straight for the medical tents. Doctor Banner is standing directly in front of the main medical tent, holding the flaps closed tight behind him. Phillips approaches from the other side, two burly soldiers following. “Doctor Banner, you wanted a word?”

“Colonel, Captain,” Dr. Banner nods to each man. “I’ve quarantined the soldiers Hydra was keeping in the dungeon.”

“What for?” Phillips asks.

“I believe Hydra is experimenting with biological warfare.” Rogers glances at the Colonel, then turns to look at Stark. Bruce continues, “They were testing to see if they could purposely infect someone with an illness in order to infect a larger population.” 

“Do you think we’re at risk?” 

“I quarantined the sick as soon as I noticed their illnesses. So long as everyone avoids contact, they should be better within a week without contaminating the larger soldier population. Barnes was the last in line for the experiment and appears to be the only one not purposefully infected. He overheard most of what they Hydra scientist Zola was doing while he was bragging to Erskine. Because of his proximity to infectious agents, I’ve segregated him from the other sick. If he’s still healthy tomorrow, he should be fine.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I studied illnesses before I came here, Colonel. Like Erskine, my research was state funded. While he studied physiology, I studied pathology. He wished to make men stronger, healthier. I wanted to prevent illnesses and possibly cause them.”

“You were attempting this?” Steve’s tone and expression reveals his disgust with the method.

“We are at war, Captain. Infecting the enemy with sickness is a time tested technique that goes back centuries. If you pick the right illness, it minimizes casualties while ensuring victory over a combatant population.” Bruce sighed and shrugged with a quirk of his lips. “If it’s any consolation, the science of diseases is in its infancy. The work I do is largely theoretical.” Captain Rogers didn’t appear relieved. Tony himself didn’t feel that comforted in the thought that the world would one day be victim to diseases cultivated by mankind.

Colonel Phillips thanks the doctor and orders the two men behind him to prevent anyone but the doctor from leaving or entering the tent. Before leaving the area to return to his duties as field commander, Phillips turns to the Captain. “I placed the woman you found in the fortress into custody under guard.”

“What for?” Tony asks incredulously. Steve puts a hand out to silence him. The Colonel pins the pair with an unimpressed stare but lets the momentary insubordination pass. They wait until Phillips is well out of earshot, Tony twitches impatiently until he bursts out, demanding “What did she do wrong?“

“We don’t know if she’s a Hydra spy.”

“Did she say something to made you think that? Hydra had her chained up, she was their prisoner. They're not smart enough to play the long con on the off chance that we would rescue our people and bring her along. Not to mention that we found her trapped in their secret underground lair. It would make more sense to chain her up in the main dungeon.” Tony carefully refrains from admitting that it is entirely possible that Natalia herself is smart enough for that level of deception. Hydra may be blind to it, but he can see the dangerous intelligence in her eyes. 

“You can’t bring emotion into this, Tony.”

“Like you didn’t bring emotion into saving Barnes?” It’s a low blow. Tony hides a wince and refrains from squirming with the need to take it back. Steve has always been nice to him and it feels wrong to be so petty.

Steve says nothing for a moment. When he sighs, there is a twitch in his cheek either from amusement or annoyance. “She needs be watched, Tony. I don’t want to compromise the safety of our other troop movements by exposing their position to a stranger. And think about where we are. Most of these men are honorable and wouldn't think to harm a woman but some might. This is for everyone's safety.”

Tony nods, more comfortable with the knowledge that Steve doesn't truly believe she is part of Hydra. He wouldn't have called her a stranger if he really thought she was dangerous. For the rest of the day Tony hides in his smithy, improving the Hydra weapons they liberated. Until the quarantined sick are pronounced well the camp can’t move on. It's going to be a long week. Barnes is released in the morning and Steve brings him around to introduce him to their group. Bucky hits it off with most of them, but butts heads with Clint almost immediately. Tony avoids the loud arguments by retreating to the blacksmith tent with Luke. The Captain joins them around midday, tucking himself into a dark corner and ducking behind the supply crates whenever Clint or Bucky come looking to complain.

On the third day Phillips sends a small team of scouts to check out the fortress. They find it burned to its bare bones and completely abandoned. Out of boredom, some of the soldiers start looking for creative ways to add interest into their daily routine. Games are arranged but they still leave dozens and dozens of men with nothing to do. Clint organizes a secret war game where the different teams have to ‘eliminate’ as many people on the other teams as possible. They use berries. Squishing them into another person’s skin to show that they are ‘dead’ for the day. 

Steve is less than thrilled to learn that they are wasting food. He’s even less pleased when fights break out over the scores. They run out of berries in the area that they’ve camped in and have to search for more if they want their game to continue. Clint spots a bush in the rock face fifty feet up a sheer cliff. Without hesitating he starts to climb.

“What are you crazy? Don't free climb that!” Tony protests. There is no way he’ll make it up the cliff. There aren’t nearly enough handholds to climb.

“I'll be fine,” Clint insists. He gets stuck a few times but works around the tough spots while Thor, Wilson, and Rhodes offer suggestions. Tony frowns, crossing his arms and waiting for the inevitable moment when Clint says. “Okay, um I need a rope.”

“I told you! And now you're too high to toss the rope to.” Tony grins, gloating a little at being proven right. “Don't climb down, just wait there.” Barton nods and shuffles onto a narrow ledge to sit. It takes nearly an hour for Tony to weld together a rough four pronged hook, strong enough to hold several men so long as the rope doesn’t break. He ties on a thick rope that had already been knotted for climbing. Some of the steeper passes have shifting rocks that make walking a difficult task so ropes are used for soldiers to hold and keep their balance.

Tony swings around the heavy hook, gauging the effort it will take to throw it up to Clint. He’s not sure he’ll make it but if he fails, Thor can try again. Those big muscles will be more than enough to get the rope up there. Stark lets the hook fly. His aim is a little too good and he nearly takes out Barton’s foot.

“Are you trying to kill me!?“

“If I am, I stuck at it,” Tony quips in response as Thor laughs. 

“Why didn't you use an arrow!”

“I don't know how to use a bow.“ 

Clint grumbles just loudly enough for them to hear him cursing. The hook tugs free from the wall after a bit of work and Thor is able to throw it above the berry bush. The next day, Clint drags Tony down the pass and gives him a long and thorough archery lesson. What Barton fails to explain to him beforehand is that bowstrings hurt if you catch a forearm in the release. The pain on his arm leaves Tony cursing the very ground they are standing on. Eventually Clint admits that getting it wrong is the best way to learn to get it right.

“You are quite the paragon of wisdom, Clint,” Tony grits through his teeth, irritation simmering in his veins.

“I'm all sorts of paragraphs.” Clint responds, nodding his head solemnly as if he just accepted a great compliment. Stark can’t even begin to formulate a rebuttal. While he’s distracted, the archer urges him to try again and again. By the end of the day his aim has improved, though he will never best Barton.

After a brawl breaks out over the last pile of berries, Steve calls a stop to the wargames. As punishment for the misbehavior, Steve assigns Clint the job of guarding Natalia. Surprisingly, the technique works and Barton stops causing so much trouble. When he remarks as such to the Captain, Tony only gets a wink in return. 

Everyone cheers when the quarantine is lifted on the seventh day. The rest of the day is spent packing the camp into carts and wagons. By sundown only the tents remain. The morning brings a heavy rainstorm and too much water to risk the already slippery slopes down the mountain. They remain hunkered down in their tents for most of the day, venturing out between rain clouds. Soldiers are going stir-crazy and more than one fight breaks out over nothing. 

The worst is when a burly soldier with an attitude takes it upon himself to pick a fight with Natalia. Clint is several feet away collecting lunch for them both; too far away to intervene. She slaps the arrogant man for his rude comment. The Captain jogs onto the scene as the other men form a ring around them both. Barton is still elbowing his way through the crowd when Tony arrives and hops up onto the kitchen cart with Rhodey and a few other men to see over the gathering.

“Hodge!” Steve warns, voice stern. “Back off.”

But he persists. “Ooh, feisty. I like that.” He leers at the red-head. “What's the matter? The moon paying you a visit?”

Natalia strikes with a violence so unexpectedly that even Captain Rogers is late to respond to the fighting. It takes no less than seven men to pull the pair apart. Hodge is banished to the far side of the camp to cool off. He’s assigned cart duty for the following day. A job that would keep him in one place during the march out of the mountains and well away from their female ‘prisoner.’

After the fight, Steve puts an additional guard on Natalia for added protection from any of Hodge’s buddies that might want payback. In a kind move, he chooses Barnes. Together Clint and Bucky spend too much time arguing and trading jokes and insults to be effective at guarding Natalia. It’s mostly for show anyway. The pair chatter at each other like the blue-jays in the trees. Their endless arguing chases off most of the other soldiers, which makes the protection detail rather easy.

Unfortunately for Tony, the pair wind up in his blacksmith tent. It’s crowded around the warm forge. Thankfully there isn’t any work to be done and most things are packed onto the cart. If he had to shape metal with all these people around he’d wind up stepping on at least four just from the forge to the anvil. Luke, Sam, and Rhodey have huddled together with a pile of acorns and stones, playing a makeshift game of Nine Men’s Morris. Tony can’t tell who is winning. He’s not sure they know either.

Clint and Bucky were banished from the tent after their bickering got too loud for the enclosed space. Steve sits with Thor, drawing out miniature battles in the dirt and debating strategies. Tony listens and adds his own opinions from time to time but mostly contents himself to wait out the long rainy day, petting Dummy idly. Natalia eventually leaves her quiet lurking space near the open flap to sit beside him stiffly and watch the strategizing take place.

They sit in silence for a long time before Tony clears his throat and speaks quietly. “If you're really not feeling well, Bruce has a tea that soothes muscle cramps. It only tastes a little bit like dirty leaves.”

“You know this, do you?” she asks, voice heavy with unspoken commentary. 

“Blacksmithing is dangerous work,” Tony answers, smooth as silk. “I get muscle aches occasionally and shrapnel injuries or burns aren't uncommon. It's not unusual for me to wear a bandage or two.” Natalia says nothing. She sits in silence and stillness until Tony forgets she is even there. 

“Your hair is growing out,” Natalia speaks suddenly, apropos of nothing, causing Tony to jump. “Again,” she continues under her breath. Natalia’s green eyes are piercing, unblinking like an owl. From the way she speaks, more than the words she says, Tony instantly knows that the captivating beauty is well aware of his secret. He pauses to consider his options before he responds.

“I don't have any scissors and I don't trust myself not to cut off an ear if I tried it with a sword.”

Natalia wordlessly holds up a dagger, thin and sharp and perfectly polished. Tony has absolutely no idea where she got it and where she had been hiding it. Captain Rogers flinches in surprise and alarm. “If you trust me?” Steve shakes his head slightly, urgently, trying to tell Tony not to trust her. Obviously this strange woman knows his secret but is choosing to keep quiet. These are trust games, starting at the moment they first met. 

Tony nods. He has to trust her. He has no choice. The redhead turns the dagger against his hair, expertly wielding the tiny blade with ease. Steve refuses to take his eyes off of the pair, waiting for Natalia to double-cross them. After an hour, an inch worth of short black hair lays in piles around the seated pair and Tony is wearing a classy new hairstyle. Rhodey whistles in appreciation when he finally turns away from their game. Clint and Bucky duck their heads into the tent, alerted by the sound, and join in the playful ribbing.

Steve sags in place, locking eyes with Tony and giving him a relieved look. Tony responds with a smug smirk --giving in to the temptation to gloat that Natalia hadn't hurt him-- tossing a wink at the Captain. Steve’s eyes widen and he blushes. He ducks his head and looks away. The shy behavior from their usually fearless leader garners even more attention from Barnes and Barton, who spend the rest of the night in a heap by the front tent flap, the echo of their laughter ringing long into the night.

The sun shines bright in the morning. Rain scents the air and imminent lightning sends a shiver through the small hairs on the back of their necks. The rain is over for now but they will be following the clouds through the mountains. A rumble of thunder echoes through their pass. The sound of tents being packed and stored into the supply carts follows the clatter from the skies. 

Marching through the mountain with an army as large as theirs takes longer than it should. Those on foot are forced to slow or stop when the supply carts get stuck in the mud or caught against fallen rocks. By midday they arrive in the valley where the 107th settlement once stood. The destroyed tents and supply boxes have not been touched in the past few weeks. Water stands in dark pools in each of the shallow fire pits. Phillips guides his army to renew this area and make it habitable again. The ruined tents are taken down to be repaired and dried or turned into scrap fabric. 

Hunting parties are organized and sent out in the afternoon. Out of desperate desire for a quiet afternoon, Steve sends Clint, Natalia, and Bucky out to the nearby mountain stream for fish. Sam and Rhodey are assigned to hunting parties that will be setting traps in the forest. Tony and Luke finish setting up the blacksmith tent and set about replacing more of the weapons that Hydra had destroyed. Only half of the former prisoners are currently armed due to the small size of the armory they raided at the fortress.

Steve stops by the tent around dinnertime, looking for Clint, Bucky and Natalia who have not returned. Tony offers to help search for the missing hunting party. Together the pair walk the length of the stream for a long time until the sound of excessive splashing reaches their ears. Around the bend they find Natalia and Bucky sitting under an evergreen tree, a line of fish resting nearby. Perched on a tall rock nearby, Clint holds an arrow half drawn in his bow watching the water with an intense stare. He draws and fires into the river. The trajectory of the arrow is easy to follow due to the length of rope trailing behind it. Clint greets Steve and Tony before pulling up the fish he had just caught. 

Clint winds up the rope on his special fish catching arrow, carefully blunting the tip with a wedge of bark from a nearby tree, and the group returns to camp with a dozen large fish. Rhodey and Sam return an hour later with a pair of rabbits and a baby hawk. Neither man explains how they got the chick and no one quite understands how Sam intends to tame the baby bird, but he insists that he can do it. He already named it Redwing. Steve doesn’t have the heart to argue, so the bird stays. Redwing spends his time in a tiny pouch under Sam’s shirt whenever he’s not being trained in the smoky blacksmith tent.

Several days slide by uneventfully. Then weeks pass in the same manner. The soldiers keep busy with necessary daily tasks and the discipline issues that plagued the previous camp are miraculously absent in this new location. Tony’s new group of friends continues to grow closer. Thor and Luke brew a batch of beer in secret and then drain it dry in one night. Bruce and Natalia sit together many afternoons, drinking tea and discussing the doctor’s research. Sam and Steve huddle over Redwing, the former attempting to train the tiny beast and the latter sketching on the back of old missives. Tony and Rhodey spend time together, discussing everything that happened in both of their lives. Clint, Natalia, and Bucky are practically attached at the hip, friendly despite the guard duty. 

Over many dinners together they all talk of families, hopes and dreams. Thor talks of his father and brother and the fight for the throne. Bruce talks about his hope to one day cure the world, to find or develop a panacea for the good of mankind. Natalia says nothing. Sam and Rhodey talk about their parents and siblings, what it will be like to see them again. Clint confesses all of the bad things that he did under his brother’s influence, speaks of the future he aspires to. Bucky and Steve talk about their past, their childhood in the Capitol City, how they are all the other has left. Luke talks of his beloved Jessica, the woman taken from him because of his station in life, that of a debt-ridden servant. Tony, speaking very carefully, explains his obligations to the Smithworks, finding a spouse, and maintaining his father’s legacy. In the end, their bond is stronger than any relationship Tony had ever encountered before.

A messenger arrives on horseback one morning, chasing the sunlight into the camp. Tony holds Steve’s breakfast when the man goes to greet the horseman next to Phillips. Tony manages to overhear the messenger thanking the Colonel for his report to the council and issuing orders to return to the capital. Colonel Phillips and government agent Coulson do not appear surprised by this news, but Steve does. Tony is pretty sure the Captain disagrees with the plan to leave the mountain passes unguarded. He's known the man long enough to recognize that particular frown out of all of his facial expressions. 

Orders are orders so the soldiers pack up the camp that same day. The excitement is palpable. Most soldiers are eager to return home. Tony has no feeling about it either way. His birthday is rapidly approaching and his inheritance would soon be secure. By dawn’s light, Phillips leads the long line of troops away from their long term camp. Out of the pass and through the valley away from the rising sun. They take their time, winding up another mountainside to reach the next pass, the second of seven rough-hewn or natural passes that separate Hydra controlled lands from the lands ruled over by the Council. A day passes as the troops continue quietly walking home. 

Warm winds from the south rush to meet them in the next valley, warming them and making travel easier. The wind leaves them and howls its way north as the troops reach the third pass. They camp out in the pass, somewhat sheltered from the wind as it roars through the mountains.

The next day is a disaster through and through. By late afternoon the caravan is at a near stand still. The narrowest pass is barely wide enough to allow a cart through. The men who traveled four or five abreast on the main path can only travel in pairs or trios through the gap in the mountain. Tony sinks onto the blacksmith cart, waiting for the line to start moving again.

Suddenly the ground begins to rumble and shake. The sounds of crashing rocks and panicked shouting sends a chill up Tony’s spine. As he and the others race toward the gap in the mountain, the heavy dust cloud slowly rises with the vicious wind. Heavy boulders, mud and rock have collapsed into the pass. Their path through the mountain is blocked off. A quick count of soldiers on both sides of the pass --shouted over the fifty foot high pile of loose rock and mud-- proves that, miraculously, no one was badly injured or missing. Just a few scrapes and a broken leg on the other side. Clint and a few others brave the mud to try and find a stable path through the debris but every attempt leads to more rocks sliding down the mountain, risking another landslide. 

Ultimately Steve makes the decision to lead the remaining soldiers and carts around to a different pass further north before meeting the rest of the army in the capital a day or two behind schedule. They will have to pass through the snow line again and most of the tents and blankets are in carts that already made it through to the other side of the mountain. Cold nights on the mountain could be deadly, and Steve has to immediately start planning out how to prevent the worst from happening. The Captain starts the soldiers onto the alternate route, leaving Thor to lead the group while he runs back to a supply cart to inventory their meager supplies. 

Tony returns to his cart near the rear of the caravan. He smiles at Rhodey, Sam, Luke and the others. It is sheer luck that all of his friends happened to be on this side of the pass when the landslide occurred. A cotter pin snapped and the blacksmith cart had lost a wheel early in the day, sending soldiers and carts around while it got fixed. It took the strength of both Thor and Luke to haul the cart up so Tony and Rhodey could slip the wheel back onto the axle. Bruce had tended to the resulting bloody knuckles and stuck around the cart, enjoying the warmth the forge put out and curling up next to Dummy in the back. 

The path further up the mountain is more steep than the others, making progress difficult. The wind bites at exposed skin, pinking cheeks and numbing fingers. Steve jogs past at one point, huffing and puffing in the cold air, as he attempts to reach the front. They eventually stop for the night, sheltered by a stand of trees. 

The Captain raises his voice to be heard by the dozens of men now under his command. “We don't have enough supplies for everyone to get their own tent and blanket. We need to triple up. Each tent gets two blankets for the three people to share. The night is going to get very cold, now is not the time for modesty or petty disagreements. We all need to work together to get everyone through this mountain safely. It's three days march until we reach the pass, then we’ll make our way back to the capital city." 

The soldiers immediately began discussing sleeping arrangements, forming groups quickly while Tony ducks through the crowd to approach Steve. “What about the blacksmith tent?”

“I've thought of it,” he replies, passing a tent off to a trio of soldiers between them. “We're going to use it to shelter the horses. I'm more concerned about--” Steve stops himself suddenly. He chuckles and shakes his head with a rueful smirk. “I’ll tell you later. Fetch Clint for me?”

A few minutes later, after speaking with the Captain, Clint drops his bow and quiver into the pouch on Damascus’ flank. The pouch bulges outward with the rope and hook tucked into the bottom alongside the rope tied arrow. Now heavy bag bouncing along next the saddle, Clint mounts the horse and takes off into the night. He returns hours later, dragging along a large deer. Along with the late season berries Tony and a few others gathered from the bushes along the dark path, the meat from the deer is barely enough to feed everyone a tiny meal each. The bones are put to use, boiling up a flavorful stock soup for the morning. With luck, the hunting would be better in the morning.

No one expects the hunting to be better in the morning. The pass where Phillips and his army left the mountains is further from the capital but more commonly used. The northern passage is technically a shorter route but it travels into freezing temperatures and the hunting is often scarce. Tony is one of the last to settle in for the night, unsure of where he’s actually going to be sleeping. He spent too much time gathering berries, setting up the smithy tent and securing the horses to talk to any of their friends about tent arrangements. When he finally emerges, giving Dummy’s leash a firm tug to ensure he won't leave the warm tent, only one other person is moving in the moonlight. 

It’s Steve, coming to fetch him. He sounds happy to see him, despite the late hour and dangerous environment. In rushed but quiet words, he explains that the only remaining tent space is with Thor and the Captain. Tony eagerly follows Steve toward the waiting tent, his only concern at the moment is getting warm. The temperature had plummeted into freezing as soon as the sun vanished over the horizon.

The tent is cramped. Thor's snoring bulk only seems to make the tent seem smaller. Tony is tempted take one side and let Steve take the middle but a heavy gust of wind blows through the tent opening and sends chills through his entire body. Privacy be damned, he'd rather be warm. 

Steve crawls into the tent behind him, twisting around to secure the flap closed against the wind. Tony shivers in the cold as he tugs the corner of one blanket away from Thor’s shoulder to cover himself. Strong pale arms reach around him suddenly, startling him. Steve freezes with his arms stretched around Tony, breath ghosting across his face. He had been trying to spread the second blanket between them. A small, nervous giggle slips past Tony's lips and Steve chuckles in response before dropping the blanket into place.

In the darkness, Tony tries to remain as still as possible, wedged between the two much larger bodies. Despite Thor’s snores and the howling wind, finding sleep is easy. Halfway through the night, Thor rolls over onto his side, stopping his snores but shoving the smaller man in the middle right onto Steve’s chest. Tony tries hard to move back between the two men without wiggling around too much, afraid to wake the Captain. 

He figures it is too little too late when Steve uses one arm to shove Thor away. Before Tony can slide back onto the ground, Steve brings his other arm up to trap Stark in place. Steve continues to breath deeply in sleep while clutching Tony tightly to him. Stark slowly squirms for several quiet minutes in the dark but he can’t manage to free himself from the Captain's arms. Resigned and tired, he gives up and succumbs to sleep. 

They are still tangled together when the clatter of moving soldiers wakes them In the morning. They separate themselves without comment and leave the tent. In the morning light, Tony can make out the traces of a blush on Steve’s cheeks. He takes a breath to speak when Thor emerges from the tent between them, yawning. The moment passes and they busy themselves with packing the camp. They walk for hours until they find a valley nestled between the peaks, a perfect hunting site. 

Midday finds Tony and a dozen other soldiers standing on the hillside, preventing the small group of wild goats from escaping further up the mountain. After seeing one of the goats headbutt a man unconscious, most of them are keeping their distance. Clint is perched in a tall tree ready to shoot, but he can’t get a decent angle. Steve, Thor, and Luke were elected as animal wranglers because they are bigger and stronger than everyone else. Thor and Luke have already managed to chase their goats through the clearing and under Clint’s arrows.

Steve fares poorly against the largest male in the group. He spends nearly ten minutes running away from the angry animal. The buck’s charge finally catches the Captain and tosses him back through the underbrush. Everyone watching struggles to hold in their laughter. Emerging with a large chunk of rotting log, Steve positions the wood in front of him as a shield. The buck gleefully slams his head against the wooden bark several times. Each consecutive headbutt leaves a series of round cracks spiraling through the bark like a bullseye. Slowly working around to position himself in the clearing, Steve finally manages to get the goat into the open. Clint makes the final shot before the makeshift wood shield completely splinters apart. 

While the meat is cooking, members of the hunting party regale the rest of the camp with tales of their heroic Captain being defeated by a wily mountain goat. The laughter carries through the valley as Tony makes his way to the blacksmith cart. He digs around a bit until he finds the project he had been working on while they camped with the 107th. The unusual shape will be perfect for what he is planning. With a grin, he pulls out the small pouch of animal fat and tree roots he had collected and gets to work. 

By the time Tony returns, project in hand, the laughter has died down but no one can make eye contact with the Captain for very long before snickering breaks out again. With a smile as innocent as he can muster, Tony walks right up to the captain and holds out the round metal shield, face down and leather grips exposed. “Next time you take on an evil goat, why not use this instead?”

The men nearby laugh, Bucky most of all. Steve blush is only partially hidden in the darkness. He obliges, and stands to hold out the shield for everyone to see. As he does, the face of the shield becomes visible and hysterical laughter overtakes the camp. “I even painted a bullseye on it for you!” Tony chimes in gleefully. The alternating red and white rings are clearly visible in the dim firelight. 

“He made it even easier for the Hydra archers to hit you now, Captain!” one of the soldiers heckles.

“It’s a shield! They’re supposed to hit it!” Steve retorts, laughter overtaking the camp once more. The Captain hides a smirks as he turns to the smug blacksmith standing beside him. “Thanks Tony. I know this was probably a joke--”

“The paint is the joke,” Tony interrupts. He doesn’t want Steve to think only made the shield to make fun of him. “I was already planning to give you this shield.”

A smile overtakes Steve’s face. “Really?” he asks in a small pleased voice. Tony cannot help but smile in return.

“Yeah. You leave your left flank open when you fight, but a heavy shield would just slow you down. I was planning on polishing it up first, but...”

“Thank you.”

Steve and Tony continue to smile at one another until Clint and Bucky interrupt them with rude noises. Perched on a stone near the fire, Natalia sits with a smirk, poised as if on a throne. The laughter dies down eventually and everyone stumbles off to their tents to sleep. Tony spends another night wedged between Thor and Steve, only this time Thor keeps his errant limbs to himself.

They reach the pass early the next day. In an effort to prevent the carts from running over soldiers if they slip on the snow and slide down the path, Steve orders the carts to the front of the formation. Thick and fluffy snow covers the mountain path, making travel difficult. A solitary owl takes flight from it’s perch upon their approach, fleeing for a quieter sleeping location. Tony and the blacksmith cart, as the heaviest cart, are the last cart to travel through the pass ahead of the rest of the troops.

As he crests the peak of the hill and looks out onto the downward slope, a falcon soars through the pass above him. Tony’s eyes track the movement of the bird in flight. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees a shadow move along the mountain walls. Dozens of other shadows suddenly look out of place. “Ambush!” he shouts, dropping the reins and reaching for his sword from the footboard of the cart. One of the shadows peels away from the wall, hurling something toward him hard and fast. A fist sized stone strikes him in the head, knocking him to the ground in an instant.

Tony wakes to the sound of clashing steel and angry shouting. He shifts in the snow, regaining his feet and shaking his head. He is still at the top of the pass. His fellow soldiers are scattered across the downward sloping path, fighting against Hydra goons. Tony can see Steve and Bucky taking on Schmidt himself. The man wields a polearm as if it was an extension of himself, holding both of his opponents at bay. 

Taking in more of the scene and clearing the fog out of his head, Tony notices that most of the Hydra goons are already down for the count. Thor’s hammer, Luke’s fists and Clint’s arrows seem to be frighteningly effective. Sam and Rhodey stand back to back, wielding swords against a few of the remaining men. Even Bruce has taken up a small sword while he attempts to drag an unconscious soldier further down the path. Tony picks up the reins, finally feeling clear headed and ready to get the blacksmith cart out of the way. 

Above them all the mountain looms, thick with snow. The pass they are fighting in ends with a sharp turn along the face of the mountain. Hundreds of feet of thin air is all that awaits anyone that misses the turn. Grabbing up a length of twine and some of his explosives, Tony mounts Damascus, slicing him free of the cart. Taking half a moment to tie and light the explosive in the forge, Tony then spurs the horse down the pass, racing through the soldiers. “Get out of the pass! Get out of the pass!” he shouts repeatedly. They rushed to obey. Steve and Bucky are slowly manipulating Schmidt toward the edge of the cliff. 

The pair fight as if they are of one mind instead of two, constantly flanking the leader of Hydra. With an angry roar Schmidt shoves Bucky away, throwing him toward the edge of the cliff before slicing at Steve again. Bucky can't get any traction and helplessly slides across the snow and ice. Captain Rogers ducks the polearm swing and grapples with Schmidt directly, turning his head in time to watch Bucky slip over the cliff edge and out of sight.

“No!” Steve fights Schmidt off, knocking the man to the ground and diving for the edge. ”Bucky!” The man dangles from a thin bush stubbornly growing through the rock, too far to reach. Schmidt starts to rise out of the snow, a horrible grin overtaking his face. The Captain is vulnerable where he crouches in the snow with his back turned, but Tony gets to there first. Jumping off of Damascus mid-stop, he grabs the rope bag from the saddle before smacking the horse on the rump. The brindle stallion is more than happy to exit the area, knocking Schmidt flat during his escape.

From the edge, Steve frantically reaches out for his friend and Bucky reaches back. The branches of the bush break under his shifting weight. There is no time to set the grappling hook. Thinking quickly, Tony fires off the lit explosive toward the mountain before pulling the rope tied arrow out of the bag. Far behind them, the explosion erupts at the peak of the mountain, breaking loose the snow pack. Schmidt regains his feet and begins to advance on the group at the cliff edge. Rhodey and a few other soldiers call out warnings, but the wind swallows their cries. 

Tony notches and shoots the bark-blunted arrow, striking his target easily. Bucky grabs hold of the arrow, wrapping his left arm tight around the rope. Steve stands taking Bucky’s lifeline out of Tony’s hands. The bush begins to splinter apart. Bucky calls out but his voice is lost in the roar of snow tumbling down the mountain pass, burying dozens of Hydra soldiers alive. A quick glance shows that their own soldiers are safely tucked out of the way of the roaring avalanche, Dummy lunging and bucking in Clint's grip. Tony drops the grappling hook onto the ground, stomping it into the hard rock with the heel of his foot before grabbing Steve by the front of his shirt, throwing a loop of rope around their waists and shoving them both over the edge. 

Dangling like ragdolls from the precipice, the three men can only stare as the avalanche rushes over the heads. Steve and Tony are pressed together, chest to chest. Eventually the snow stops pouring over the ledge and the resulting silence is startling. A sudden laugh draws their attention down to the man below them, sitting in a brittle bush. “Hey, Steve! Remember that time I hung you off the roof to get our kite and you got caught on the laundry line? This isn’t payback is it?”

From his position tied up against Steve’s chest --inches away from his clear blue eyes and perfectly wind-pinked cheeks-- Tony could feel the tension bleed out of his Captain. Relieved laughter bubbles up, overtaking them both. Steve drops his head onto Tony’s shoulder, chuckling. Tony shifts his arms around Steve, happy to be alive. Steve leans back and catches Tony’s eye, blushing when the shorter man doesn’t look away.

The sudden snap of breaking wood ends their cheerful mood. Bucky cries out in surprise and shock. The rope that connects them goes taught in an instant. Steve calls out for his friend over and over again, twisting every which way to look at the dangling rope below him. Finally Tony catches sight of him, dangling below them. His entire weight is being held up by the rope wrapped around his left arm.

The sudden stop had stunned him but he is quickly regaining consciousness, to Tony’s immense relief. Steve continues wiggling in the bonds, calling for Bucky over and over. When Barnes finally calls back his voice is pained. Tony and Steve can only watch as Bucky slowly brings his right hand up to take some of his weight. Shouting from the cliff edge reaches their ears and the rope around them is slowly drawn up. As soon as their feet are back on solid ground, Thor takes Bucky’s lifeline away from Steve. Clint starts working at the rope around their waist. 

Before they can even get untied, Bucky is already being hauled over the edge. Bruce rushes to the site, weaving through the milling soldiers and shoving Steve out of the way. The fall dislocated Bucky’s shoulder. The tearing is so bad that Bruce isn’t convinced he will regain full range of motion. Steve came out of the encounter with only rope burns on his hands to contend with. The entire platoon moves as one, away from the cliff edge. While Barnes is tended to by the doctor, Clint makes a report to the Captain. 

“So, Bad news is that I didn’t see Buck Chisholm. The good news is that I only saw a two mercenaries with Hydra. Rumlow and a weird guy called Batroc. Both of them are tough fighters, Rumlow is a hard hitter and Batroc is more flexible. But that avalanche seemed to take care of both of them with ease!” 

Clint grins at Tony and he grins right back. A cry of greeting from further down the path catches their attention. A small group of men are walking towards them, wearing rough hewn clothing. Steve meets them, and Tony just makes out the leader introducing himself. Apparently this man, Yinsen, hails from a nearby mountain village. He and a few others rushed up here to investigate the explosion and check out the damage to the pass from the avalanche. 

At the mention of his explosives makes Tony turn his gaze up to the top of the pass. Remarkably, the blacksmith cart is still there! The angle of the snowpack where the avalanche began somehow sheltered the cart. With a pleased hum Tony starts to climb the snowy slope, a few others following close behind. They slip a few times on the way up, Rhodes even has to help Tony out of a drift at one point before they all make it up to the top again. 

The cart had tipped onto its side. Hot coals sinking through the snow, leaving behind melted holes. Bits of metal and broken weapons are scattered across the pass. While Rhodey and Luke tip the cart upright, Tony starts picking up the various bits and bobs out of the snow. His fingers quickly become numb from the cold. Rhodes slips his way back down the slope to fetch Damascus. Tony realizes he made a horrible error as soon as his hands touch a painfully hot object. Snatching back his fingers quickly, he grabs up a thick rag and digs down for the stray piece of coal. 

It isn’t coal. It’s an explosive container; one of his experiments. A chemical explosive that doesn’t need a fuse. “Oh god. Get back!” No one questions the order and the men who had been searching through the snow are now running and diving for cover. In a panicked move, Tony tosses the explosive away from him. Steaming and creaking, the container lands right in the middle of the pile of scrap. 

The explosion hurls shrapnel in all directions. High sidewalls on the blacksmith cart act as a shield for the other soldiers. Thick shards of metal become deeply embedded into the wooden planks. Equally thick bits of shrapnel now jutt out of Tony’s chest. The pain is excruciating. As darkness envelops him, the last thing he sees is Rhodey running up the snow covered hill, screaming.

Pain is the first sensation to return, almost too much pain to withstand. Then the crackle of a fire and the sound of splashing water. The warmth of thick blankets and the itchy scratching feeling of those same blankets draws his attention next. The scent of incense is so thick in the air he feels like he should sneeze. 

Tony slowly blinks awake. A strange man stands in the corner, washing his hands in a tiny basin. Wooden walls stand all around them with mud filling the cracks to keep out the bitter cold. Twisting his head around, Tony spots the door only steps away from the foot of the bed. Before he can even consider sitting upright, the man in the corner speaks to him while drying his hands on a cloth. 

“The damage is not so bad. Mostly surface scarring.” The pain in his chest radiates outward under a thick pad of bandages. Tony tugs gently at the edge of the bandages, examining the gash on his left pectoral with detached interest. The strange man --Yinsen, Tony recalls seeing the man right before the accident-- speaks up again after a moment of silence. “A woman should not be working with such dangerous things.”

“Men or explosives?” Tony asks with a sigh, voice croaking for a moment.

“In my experience, both can be deadly.” Yinsen replies with a small smile on his lips. Stark smirks back, slowly easing himself into a seated position. The cuts on his chest pull as he uses his arms to shift upright. Yinsen goes to the door and leaves, sunlight streaming in behind him. 

Captain Rogers --that hard look in his eyes could never belong to Steve-- enters and closes the door. He stares for several minutes, mouth curled into a frown. His eyes are searching for some kind of answers. Some proof that everything they saw was wrong. Body tense and ready for a quick escape he stays next to the door, golden hair brushing the roof beams. Time stretches on between them. 

“Who are you,” the Captain sighs heavily, breaking the silence, “really?”

“I am Natasha Antonia Stark. Only heir to the Stark Smithworks and the entirety of the Stark fortune. I told you the truth as much as I could. I didn’t lie about anything except being a woman.” 

“Army regulations state no women are allowed in combat areas--” Tony erupts, launching himself to his feet and marching over to the taller man. 

“Fuck that!” He shouts, shoving a calloused finger into Steve’s chest, mostly as part of his argument but also to help hold himself upright. He probably should have stayed in bed a bit longer. “You have nearly one hundred soldiers that you need to guide out of these mountains with only half of them armed against another ambush. I can still fight. I can still craft weapons. You _need_ me.” Panting through rage and pain, Tony meets the Captain head on, staring him down. 

Steve’s eyes soften, his face twitches with a need to smile. Tony narrows his eyes as Steve opens his mouth to speak. “You didn’t let me finish.” Large, gentle hands grab onto Tony's waist as Steve hauls the short blacksmith over to the bed, sitting them both down on the thin cot. “I’ve never been one for following the rules to the letter. It’s the spirit that counts. The point was to shelter those who are unable to defend themselves, to keep them safe. You have proven yourself to be more than capable of that.” Steve explains, mindlessly ruffling Tony's hair --something he did after every sparring match.

A sudden look of horror crosses Steve face and he scrambles up off the bed. Everything in his upbringing shouting at him that sitting beside an unmarried woman without a chaperone is improper. He stammers for a few moments, gesturing toward the bed awkwardly and muttering something about getting some rest. Tony only raises an eyebrow while the Captain stumbles out of the building.

Five people are standing around the door when the captain emerges, none of them looking particularly happy. They appear to be standing as guards around the local doctor’s home. Their sour faces aren't hard to understand. Stark’s screams as they pulled out each piece of shrapnel had been gut wrenching. Steve looks at each one of them in turn before asking, “What did you hear?”

“Tony gonna be alright?” 

“Yes, she…” Steve stops himself short, wincing at revealing Stark’s dangerous secret. The silence doesn't last long. 

“Don’t worry about it. We already knew.” Clint soothes while Bruce, Rhodes, and Natalia all nod along. Thor remarks “I did not know you were unaware of Tony’s true nature.”

"How did--” the Captain trails off with a confused look. 

Clint is the first to answer. “Remember how I said I was an assassin for a few minutes? She was the person I was hired to kill. Took me a few days to make the connection. Her long hair really made her look different.”

“Tony came to me on many occasions to ask for a cup of my muscle relaxing tea or for some bandages, yet I was never allowed to see any wounds. It wasn’t hard to figure out.” 

“I grew up in the Stark River Settlement. Natasha played with the other boys all the time. We would call her Tony whenever she was being too boyish. Cross-dressing honestly isn't the weirdest thing I've caught her doing.“

“Woman’s intuition,” is all Natalia says.

After an awkward silence following Natalia’s enigmatic statement, Thor speaks up, “When Stark and I first met I remarked upon a previous meeting between our fathers. From the very start I knew that Howard Stark had no son, but a daughter.”

‘“Why didn't you say something to me?” Steve asks. He only gets incredulous looks in response. Barnes walks up to the group, cradling his arm to his chest and wincing with every step. Sam is matching his pace, standing shoulder to shoulder just in case the injured man loses his balance. Luke approaches from the direction of the pass, where the blacksmith cart is being put back together. “Bucky, did you know?”

“Know what?” he responds in a somewhat dazed voice. 

“Stark’s a woman,” Clint explains succinctly. 

Barnes blinks for a few moments before replying, “Oh. No. I didn’t know.”

Sam is expresses his disbelief loudly until Natalia pins him with a stare. Luke only laughs, “Jess would love this. A lady blacksmith showing me up.“

The Captain waves his hands around and shushes them all. “Alright, enough. This isn't a game and Tony could get into serious trouble. We should keep this to ourselves.”

“Obviously,” is the only reply as Natalia marches away with Clint on her heels. 

Barnes furrows his brow and asks,“Wait, Stark is a woman?” 

With a chuckle, Sam pats Bucky gently on his good shoulder and addresses the others, “Don't mind him. We got him drunk to help with the pain and to keep him relaxed.” Bruce and Sam guide the inebriated man away toward the tents that are being set up in the clearing of the village. Before Steve can escape from the awkward situation, Luke grabs him and reports that the inventory of the blacksmith cart is complete and everything was found, including both of Tony's swords. 

After settling Bucky into a tent to rest, Bruce returns to check on Stark. Banner, Yinsen and Tony all agree that he’s well enough to sleep with everyone else. The village is very small and Tony had been taking up the only bed Yinsen and his family had. Which is why, at dusk--wincing with every move--Tony crawls into their shared tent. Steve hovers behind him, clenching his fists nervously. “Maybe, um. Maybe you and Bucky should switch places? So you can sleep with Natalia instead?”

Sitting back on his heels and looking over his shoulder, Tony says nothing, only raising an eyebrow. From several tents over, Bucky calls out, “Over my dead body you will. I’ve had enough sleepless nights because of your bony knees in my back, thanks.” 

Laughter rings out from several tents around the area. Steve blushes bright red across his cheeks and down his neck. Stifling his own painful laughter, Tony enters the tent and carefully flops down onto his back beside Thor. Deep rumbling chuckles vibrate the body next to his until the man in question rolls onto his side facing the center of the tent.

Steve reluctantly joins them in the tent, and lays down with his back to Tony, a change from their previous nights together. In a soft murmur, Thor begins to speak. He regales them with tales of Lady Sif for nearly an hour, long enough for Steve to relax and stop holding himself stiff as a board. Tony is immediately enamored with the warrior woman from Asgard and expresses interest in meeting her one day. Only a breath away from sleep, Thor agrees.

About halfway through the night, the bright full moonlight shining down on their tent, Tony wakes to find himself wrapped protectively in Steve’s arms. He can’t convince himself to pull away from the warmth and comfort. The hoot of an owl pierces the silence of night, a strange sound because Tony didn’t recall seeing any trees nearby. Why would an owl be so far from the forest? As he drifts off to sleep in Steve’s arms, he could swear that he can hear the cry of a different bird. How odd. Falcons don’t hunt at night.

Steve is the first one up and out of their tent in the morning. He mumbles some sort of apology before escaping, though Stark can't understand what he is apologizing for. While the camp is packed up for the day, both Tony and Barnes sit quietly together. Both nursing their injuries and Bucky trying to muffle the noises around them to alleviate his hangover headache.

Now that the looming threat of Hydra is gone, their trek back to the city is a more joyous one. The soldiers chat happily amongst themselves and a few groups break out into song on the long walk down the winding path. Halfway down the mountain, overlooking the snowy pass where they nearly lost their lives, the blacksmith cart breaks again. This time the axle splinters into pieces and cannot be repaired. 

A few soldiers ambitiously march off into the nearby forest to find a small trunk or thick branch to replace the axle. The trees on this side of the mountain are thick and knotted and twisted, unsuitable for a straight axle rod. The staccato sound of a woodpecker breaks up the silence and a pair of swallows swoop through the forest while Steve and Tony stare at the crooked trees. Without a properly sized and straight tree trunk, they’ll need to carve a replacement. The carving and replacement would take at least a day. 

After an hour of unsuccessful searching for a suitable tree, Steve makes the decision to leave a few men behind with Tony and Luke to repair the cart and follow along. They can't abandon the anvil and tools because they belong to the government. They can’t move them to other carts because the additional weight would put the other carts at risk. But they also have to push on because the ruling council needs to be alerted to the end of Schmidt. 

Steve leaves three tents, six blankets and seven volunteers behind while the rest of the platoon continues on. He bids a personal farewell to Stark, admonishing him to be careful. The request makes Tony roll his eyes before saying goodbye to Rhodey and the rest of their friends. Those remaining behind watch the platoon march off into the distance. Tony tries hard to hide his smile at seeing the ridiculous bullseye shield on the Captain’s back. In hindsight it feels a lot like he literally painted a target on Steve. 

The repair crew continues to search for a suitable tree, venturing deeper and deeper into the woods. They find a relatively straight tree by midday and manage to fell it before nightfall. With only carving to do, they should be able to be underway by the end of day tomorrow. In the shadow of the setting sun, Tony notices footprints in the snow hundreds of feet below them. Could the Hydra soldiers have survived the avalanche?

Scrambling for the cart, Tony snatches up a partially broken spyglass --lenses cracked down the middle-- and scans the next pass, hoping against hope to find no signs of movement. Unfortunately he finds it. Several hydra soldiers are sneaking through the pass ahead of them. The blood red color of Schmidt’s coat is easy to spot among the gray rocks.

The surviving Hydra soldiers are at least a day and a half ahead of him. If he follows on foot, running the whole way, Schmidt would still make it to the Capitol before him. Luke approaches, concerned and curious about why Stark is staring at the next pass. Tony hands over the spyglass, wordlessly. When he spots the fleeing soldiers, Luke nearly drops the delicate device in his hands. The implications of a Hydra invasion of the Capitol city are not lost on him.

“If I took Damascus, do you think you could haul the cart by hand?”

“Yeah, go, we’ve got this.”

Tony unties Damascus and packs up his explosives from the cart. He ties the bag of explosives to the saddle, opposite of the bag of ropes, hook and arrow that had been salvaged after their last use. Climbing into the saddle stretches his chest muscles more than is comfortable. He’s pretty sure at least one of the wounds has reopened. Luke tosses a blanket up to him before he leaves, at least he'll have something to ward off the night chill.

Tony races long into the night, stopping only when he must, to rest Damascus and doze for several hours on the cold, rocky ground. The capital isn't too far away on horseback, only a day's ride. Two days on foot. If he's lucky, he might be able to catch up with Steve and the others before they reach the city. The next days ride is long, too long. It's nearing sunset by the time he reaches the edges of the city. 

Riding through the cobbled streets of the capital, Tony finds himself surrounded by cheering citizens. Phillips and his army should have entered the city at least a day ago, so they must be greeting Rogers and his platoon today. He’s not too late. Stark rides Damascus through the crowds, searching for one shining blond head among the thousands of people milling around the streets. 

He finally spots him. That ridiculous round shield with its flaking paint resting on his back for all the world to see. 

“Steve!” Tony calls, reaching down to the Captain where he walks with his men. Without a thought to question Stark’s presence, Steve grabs tight to Tony’s hand and uses the leverage to climb astride Damascus. He tucks his hands firmly into Tony’s waist as the horse wheels around and heads toward the center of the city. “Schmidt survived!” Tony calls over his shoulder and they gallop through the streets, scattering the citizens. “I saw him with my own eyes, Steve! He’s here in the city.” Behind them, the rest of their friends are sprinting to keep up with the racing horse.

“I believe you,” Steve assures. “But why would he try to take the city? He must know the entire army is present?”

“Maybe that’s the point?”

“You think he’s planning to kill everyone?” Steve asks, a note of panic in his voice. 

“Or eliminate the leadership and scatter the ranks,” Tony answers, concentrating on steering the horse through the crowds. Steve clenches his hands briefly, digging his fingers into Tony's hips as he realizes the answer. 

“It’s the council building. That’s his target. If he takes out the council then our whole government could collapse.”

They take a corner at half speed and race toward the center of the city. Standing tall on a hill, the council building is a set of three buildings of different heights, linked by a central tower. Sliding to a stop along the cobblestones, Tony and Steve dismount and immediately scan the building for traces of Schmidt and Hydra. The entrances are kept locked and guarded day and night. Schmidt won't be able to get in that way. The exterior walls would be difficult to climb but there were several roof ornaments that could be easy to latched onto with ropes. Dropping down from the roof onto a balcony or window ledge would be easy, but there is no way to access the roof from the interior of the building. 

The roof tiles shine in the evening sunlight, a golden glow overtaking the city. A shadow moves in the eves of the tower, shifting and growing in number the longer he watches. Hydra is already here. An owl abandons it's nest among the roof supports and flees the area. Tony points out the Hydra shadows to Steve, turning as their friends run up to them, panting. Clint makes a sarcastic quip about running during training before the Captain shushes him. This isn’t the time. Colonel Phillips, the army and all of the citizens of the capital would be arriving in this area of the city shortly to celebrate the demise of Hydra.

Steve orders Sam and Bucky to make their way inside and to warn the council, Natalia following them wordlessly. Everyone else will have to find a way onto the roof from the outside. Tony grabs the bag of explosives from Damascus while Steve and the others dig into the bag of ropes. 

Thor tosses the hook onto the roof of one section, climbing up the moment the connection is secure. Clint follows suit, firing the rope tied arrow around a roof ornament and securing the line. He and Rhodes shimmy up the ropes onto the roof. Three Hydra assassins peel away from the shadows, engaging with their allies. 

Steve grabs Tony by the back of his shirt before he can climb the rope to join them. On the other side of the central tower, red coat standing out against the beige stone, Schmidt rises from the shadows. The distant cry of a hawk reaches their ears, competing with the sound of their own racing heartbeats. The hook and the arrow are both out of reach and are of no use to them. They’ll have to find another way onto the roof. 

A trio of tall, thick flagpoles rise above the roofline of the other, shorter section of the council building where Schmidt stands. Sharing a glance, they know exactly what they’re going to do. Using the technique they discussed all those months ago on the first day of training, Steve and Tony slowly work their way up the flagpoles with their belts. Schmidt paces the edge of the roof, watching their approach. 

On the other section of the building roof, a man with thick arms and a broad chest attacks Clint, wrestling the shorter man to the tiles. They roll over and over across the roof. When the larger man lands on his back he kicks Clint away and climbs to his feet. The Hydra agent pulls a bow out of the quiver at his back, drawing an arrow and firing at the prone soldier. At the last second, Clint clumsily rolls out of the way of the red and white arrow. 

With numerous flips and jumps another Hydra assassin approaches Rhodes where he stands at the edge of the roof. James dodges as the leaper comes down onto the tiles. Several of the clay tiles snap into pieces under the force of his strike. The man dressed in dark colors laughs derisively as Rhodey scrambles backwards on his hands. Leaping high into the sky with the intent to land on top of Rhodes, the assassin makes one fatal mistake. He forgets how close he is to the edge. One strong kick to the airborne man is all it takes for James to emerge the victor. Several stories below, the leaping assassin meets a sudden end.

While the bowman fires again and again chasing Clint across the roof, the two largest men face off. Thor and a man wearing odd, bone-white face paint grapple and twist and fight. Neither man seems to have the upper hand. Having dispatched one Hydra assassin, Rhodes sneaks up behind the bowman and knocks him off his feet. Clint scrambles up just as Thor and his Hydra assassin separate, staggering apart. 

Schmidt kicks out at the Captain when he draws close to the roof. The polearm the man had wielded in the pass is gone and Tony cannot see what he might have replaced it with. Tony scrambles onto the roof, calling out and drawing attention away from Steve. Schmidt glances away long enough for the Captain to jump across to the next flagpole where Tony can reach out a hand and pull him up. 

With a sneer and a growl, Schmidt pulls out a long dagger, curved and jagged, with a distinctive color pattern in the blade. Stark Smithworks is the only known producer of damascus steel. This is one of the blades made by the Stark family and sold illegally by Obadiah Stane. Suddenly everything feels personal. Tony has to get his family's weapons out of the hands of Hydra and he’ll start with Schmidt.

Steve and Tony stand together, united as the leader of Hydra approaches slowly. Pulling the shield off his back, Steve positions himself in front while Tony steps back to prepare his explosives. Schmidt laughs. The sound carries across the courtyard where citizens are beginning to congregate for the celebration. People point and shout in response to the evil laughter. 

“How do you plan to defeat someone like me? With a shield the size of a dinner plate and bag of tiny little explosives? You are fools!”

Unwilling to listen, Steve hurls his shield at the leader of Hydra. The sharp metal edge slices a deep gash across the man’s forehead and he drops the dagger. His face is quickly covered in blood, turning his once stern face into a macabre and horrifying sight. Far below them, the citizens of the capital cry out in shock and alarm. The shield bounces along the roof tiles before coming to a stop twenty paces away. 

“You fight for this country, yet you know nothing of the world. I have seen the future. I will free the people, uniting them under one ruler. I am the future!” Schmidt roars these words as he spreads his arms out wide.

The shouting below them shifts into screams as additional Hydra agents make themselves known throughout the city. Some attempt to take hostages, but all are easily and quickly dispatched by the many soldiers currently in residence. Rhodes and Barton work in tandem to overpower the bowman, knocking him of his feet and sending him sliding off the roof. Thor and the assassin lock arms again, until a shift in the roof tiles allows the Hydra agent to gain the upper hand. 

Fighting against the headlock, Thor pushes them both back toward the edge. Deftly slipping out of the grip, the Asgardian knocks the assassin off his feet and sends him flying. The momentum of the fight nearly sends Thor off the roof as well, but Clint and Rhodey are there in time to grab him away from the edge. 

Steve faces off against the madman, drawing his attention away from Tony. Digging through the bag of explosives, Stark pulls out the biggest and most dangerous one he’s ever invented. He fishes deeper and deeper into the bag but he can't find the flint and steel. He must have forgotten it! How can he light these explosives without an ignition source? 

In the blink of an eye, a flaming arrow lands at his feet, puncturing roof tiles and embedding itself into the timbers below. Clint salutes from the other roof section where he, Thor, and Rhodey are watching the fight. Lighting the large clay bottle in the fire, Tony lobs the heavy explosive at Schmidt. It sails through the air, fuse glowing in the dusk of evening.

With a horrific grin, the red clothed madman snatches the jar out of the air and pulls out the fuse. He cackles with glee. No one hears the twang of a bowstring. Clint hits the jar straight on with a metal tipped arrow, spattering the foul smelling liquid all over Schmidt.

Swiping the acrid substance out of his mouth, Schmidt charges them. He tackles Steve and manages to knock Tony off his feet in the process. Blood and accelerant dripping off of his face, he latches onto the Captain's throat, strangling him. Slipping on the tiles and struggling to regain his feet, Tony draws his father's sword and attacks. A stripe of red bubbles up along Schmidt’s arm between the jagged edges of cut cloth. Schmidt strikes out at Tony but only manages to snatch the bag of explosives away from his hip.

Steve takes the opportunity to kick free and gasps for air. He rises to his feet, backing up until he feels his shield under his foot. Tony ducks over to grab the flaming arrow while the Captain picks up his shield. Without a bow, Tony can only throw the arrow at Schmidt, tossing it awkwardly.. The leader of Hydra stands before them, Tony's bag of explosives in his hand. Smears of blood are streaked across his face and clothing. His evil smile widens as the arrow misses him by several feet. 

The tiles where Schmidt stands are coated with the acrid liquid from Tony's explosive canister. Flames jump from the arrow to the tiles and spread like wildfire. The explosive mixture burns blue and hot. It sweeps over Schmidt’s entire body faster than he can react. Cloth burns away, pale flesh bubbles and chars before peeling back to reveal muscle and sinew. Screams of rage and agony echo across the courtyard. Both Steve and Tony notice the moment that the bag of explosives catches fire. 

Without a thought, Steve grabs Tony by the waist and throws them both down the slope of the roof, riding in the shallow cup of the metal shield. They slide right off the edge of the roof and land on the grassy hillside, bouncing and sliding their way down the hill. The roof explodes behind them, flames licking the tiles and walls, searching for a way to spread. 

As soon as the shield slides to a stop at the bottom of the hill Tony lifts his head. He shifts slightly, bracing one hand on metal and another in grass as he watches Clint, Thor and Rhodes climb down from the distant roof using the ropes. Steve grunts in pain underneath him. Looking around, Tony finds that he is laying across Steve lap and shifting upright is causing the hilt of his sword to dig straight into the Captain’s hip. The pair attempt to untangle themselves and only succeed in moving their sprawl from the shield onto the grass. Their friends watch and don't lift a finger to help while the two struggle to stand up. 

The enormous doors of the council building open. Sam, Bucky, and Natalia pass through, escorting a large black man between them. Colonel Phillips makes his way up the stairs and shakes the man's hand. The army appointed government agent, Coulson, is only a step behind and settles in on the black man's right side. Natalia steps forward to stand on his left. Sam and Bucky quietly remove themselves from the situation and join the rest of them at the edge of the stairs. 

“Thank you for your service, Colonel. Would you care to help me identify these soldiers that have seen fit to destroy the roof of the council building?” The council official turns and examines their group. His one eye narrows as it passes over them. 

“Council Director Fury, i have no explanation for what happened here today.” Colonel Phillips raises one finger to point at Steve and then Thor. “Captain Rogers is a fine officer that I trust to be a fair and authoritative leader. Thor Odinson is the Asgardian representative that insisted on reviewing the Hydra threat. I do not know the rest by name.” Fury nods and turns to the man at his side.

“Coulson?”

The government agent clears his throat but does not reach for the roster he keeps in a clipboard at his side. “Clint Barton is the finest archer I’ve ever had the pleasure to witness. Sam Wilson, James Rhodes, and James Barnes are from the 107th, and thus were not under my direct supervision, though I believe they have proven themselves here today. The last soldier enlisted under the name Anthony Stark, though her real name is Natasha. I sent you a report on her last week.”

Fury nods, turning to address the crowded courtyard behind them. Tony, Steve, and the rest share surprised glances. Council Director Fury raises his voice to be heard by all, a booming sound that carries easily over the night air. 

“Today we come to celebrate our victory over Hydra. Every soldier serving in our any has the gratitude of the council. Those who stand before me today on the steps of the council building are all fine soldiers that have performed above and beyond the call of duty. They have done themselves and their country proud. Each of you will be awarded medals and honors for your successful eradication of the Hydra threat to our city.” Council Director Fury pauses as the crowd applauds. He raises one hand to bring silence once more. 

“Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard. I thank you for assisting our soldiers in eradicating the Hydra threat.” Thor grins and nods regally before Fury continues. “Captain Rogers, you mounted an unsanctioned rescue mission to save hundreds of soldiers from Hydra’s clutches. In doing so, you broke dozens of army regulations. Despite facing great danger while infiltrating an unknown Hydra base, you brought back every soldier but one. I know the loss weighs heavily upon you, but know that Erskine would have been proud to know that his greatest medical success has become a national hero. 

“I award you lordship, a position which allows you access to governmental proceedings. You also may apply for your own parcel of land upon retirement from the military. I pronounce you Lord Steven Rogers” More applause follows and Steve fights down the blush that is creeping across his cheeks. Bucky is grinning proudly and claps the loudest, despite his injured shoulder. Fury stops the celebration again with one single motion.

Fury turns to Tony, singling him out and drawing closer. “But you, Lady Natasha Stark. You impersonated a man and joined the army when your family was drafted. You broke the law. By all rights you should be tried for felony impersonation and potential treasonous activities.” Whispers erupt through the courtyard until Fury continues over the noise, “Yet you have conducted yourself honorably and have defended this country with distinction.

“I met your parents once. Not long before they passed. Your mother was an elegant woman, and quite possibly the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. It seems you are even smarter. Your father was ambitious and stubborn; like you. He told me that Stark men were made of iron. Despite your excellent service I have no lordship to give you, though I may offer a new title to add to your noble house. I can think of no better title for the woman who helped to save our country. Lady Natasha Stark: The Iron Woman.” 

The gathered crowd roars their approval. Citizens stomp their feet and clap their hands, chanting the new title. Tony looks out on the ocean of faces around him, all cheering for him--for her, for Natasha Stark. The loudest shouts and hollers are coming from their friends, Rhodes particularly. Blush stains his cheeks, and Tony ducks his head with a pleased smile. It takes several minutes for the noise to subside before Fury is able to continue.

“I will also be awarding you and Captain Rogers, both, a medal of valor, for protecting the government and your fellow soldiers on multiple occasions,” Fury finishes, lowering his voice and leaning forward slightly. “Next time you save the government? Try not to set the council building on fire.” Tony and Steve both look up to the roof of the council building where the fire has petered out, though some embers still glow in the darkening sky. Barely visible above the council building, blotting out the night sky, a dark bird wheels in lazy circles around the gathered masses.

“There is still much work to be done,” he continues undeterred. “Schmidt may be dead but his many supporters remain to carry on his work. Since you've liberated my spy from Hydra’s ranks,” Fury gestures to Natalia, “we'll need all the help we can get to track down Schmidt’s lieutenant Zola and the rest.” 

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. “You were working for us? Why didn't you say something?” 

“You had your orders, I had mine,“ She responds coldly. Steve stammers for a few moments, seeming to grow frustrated by her expressionless gaze. He argues and she rebuts, they bicker. Shaking his head in amusement, Tony moves to one side to approach government agent Coulson.

“Stark?” The bland-looking man asks, pitching his voice low to keep their conversation more private.

“i will gladly help to eliminate the last of Hydra. I must ensure that my family's weapons aren't finding their way into enemy hands. To do that I need to return to the Smithworks. There are records that will be of use. Also, I still have some unfinished business to take care of.” He’s almost of age to inherit. The threat Stane poses to the Smithworks seems inconsequential compared to a battle against Hydra. Even the feelings of doubt regarding marriage seem small now.

“I remember our deal. Good luck, Stark. Travel safe.” At his words, Tony flashes back to the day he learned of his parents death. That faceless government agent that understood the danger of his situation was Coulson all along. It seems that there are a lot more people on his side than he had previously believed. With a smile and a grateful nod, Tony departs. He gathers Damascus, says his goodbyes to the others and gives Rhodes a long hug before setting out into the late evening light. 

All he can hear is the sound of the wind shuttling through trees and fences. Night-blooming flowers scent the air, soaking up the moonlight. The quiet and stillness of solitary travel strikes him as odd when compared to the rambunctious group of men he had been traveling with for so long. He doesn’t hear Steve call for him.

Back in the city, Fury finally intervenes in the argument between Steve and the red-headed spy. “There’s a lot of work left to do. We need people like you to join up again, take down the last of Hydra. What do you say Captain?” Fury offers.

Steve’s gaze turns pensive for a moment, before he turns to the space beside him only to find it empty. “Tony?” he asks, twisting around to search the council. The familiar figure is nowhere to be seen. “Tony? Fury, if you’ll excuse me?” The Captain walks away without waiting to be dismissed. 

Bucky grabs him before he gets too far. “Can you believe it Steve!? You! A lord! Some orphaned little shit that didn’t know when to quit got himself a lordship!” He’s practically giddy, thoroughly amused by this turn of events. Steve cannot bring himself to match his enthusiasm at the moment.

“Have you seen Tony?”

The somber tone in Steve’s voice chases the smile off of Bucky’s face. “Yeah, he was here a minute ago. Rhodes was the last to talk to him.” Rhodes is standing less than fifteen paces from him talking with Thor and Steve crosses that distance in a flash.

“Where's Tony? I mean Natasha,“ Steve asks abruptly. Rhodey freezes with his hands mid-stroke along Dummy’s panting chest, Steve hadn’t noticed the dog earlier. Rhodes looks the Captain up and down appraisingly before answering. 

“She took Damascus and went home.”

His heart sinks to his feet, his stomach churns. “Oh,” Steve answers in a small voice. His hands start fidgeting, his head droops. 

Rhodes isn’t heartless, he can see how upset Steve is getting over being theoretically abandoned. Natasha will definitely be coming back to finish of Hydra. She said so when she left. Once a Stark sets their mind to something, there’s no stopping them. “But,” Rhodey offers with a sigh. “Dummy just turned up looking for her. You could help me return him?“

Joy bursts across Steve’s face, brighter than the sun itself. Rhodes can’t help but smile back and chuckle a bit. He has never seen such a love-sick fool in all his life. He looks up and catches Bucky’s eye. The other James smiles back and relaxes out of his tense, defensive stance. Steve sobers up for a moment, clearing his throat and glancing around the dark streets that are slowly emptying of people and soldiers. “It’s too late to head out, Stark should have stayed overnight. We’ll go in the morning. Borrow horses if we can.” Rhodes nods in agreement.

Damascus trudges along the road in the dark, following the path illuminated by the full moon. Both rider and horse are tired, but they are going home. It would take more than a day to ride the distance, including a nap along the roadside, but it is worth it to get home faster. The only damper on their eagerness to return is the absence of a funny blue greyhound. Dummy had tried to follow their frantic chase to the capital city but he quickly tired and was left behind. Tony isn’t worried. The silly greyhound is smart, despite his name. He will be able to find his way home. He always does. 

The dark moonlit night bleeds into a cloudless sunny morning. Robins sing their praise as they flit among the trees. He left Stark River Settlement under the cover of darkness, yet he is returning during the brightest part of the day. Townsfolk going about their daily chores stop to watch curiously as he passes by. The baker sets out his freshest batch in the open window of his shop. The scent makes Tony’s mouth water. He hasn’t eaten in days. 

Sensing that home is nearby, Damascus picks up his pace without being ordered to. He quickly trots up the hillside to Stark Manor, charging into a gallop when he reaches a flat stretch. The gates stand open wide, like welcoming arms of a beloved family member. Like the open jaws of a great beast waiting to swallow you whole. It is a bittersweet return. A return to duties and obligations of course, but also a return to family and affection. 

Pushing his wheelbarrow across the courtyard, Happy is the first to see horse and rider return. His mouth drops open and he stares for a moment, dropping the hay-filled wheelbarrow in surprise. “Miss Stark! You’re back!” Happy shouts, running to Damascus and taking the reins so the heiress can dismount. “Pepper! Jarvis!” He continues, “She’s back!”

The clatter of dropped dishware echoes from the kitchen and frantic footsteps follow Happy’s call. Pepper is the first out of the house, bursting through the front doors and running straight into Stark’s arms. Her pale, thin arms hide a strength that takes Stark’s breath away. This feels like home. 

Jarvis emerges from the house at a slightly more sedate pace, rushing across the courtyard, wiping soapy hands on his apron. Stark pulls away from Pepper and smiles at the man that inspired a false middle name. “Mistress Natasha. I am so pleased you’ve returned to us at last.” The tall and formal man refrains from hugging the head of the house, but his eyes mist over with unshed tears. 

“It’s good to be back.” Turning back to the waiting horse, Stark unties the bag full of Howard’s armor from the saddle. “The armor didn’t see a lot of action. But the swords will need sharpening.” Wordlessly accepting the armor and swords, Jarvis walks away, first to place the swords in the home smithy before taking the armor into the tack room of the stable for oiling and polishing. With words of welcome and joy, Happy resumes his duties and leads Damascus away to the stables.

“You-- Your hair is so short,” Pepper laments, gingerly touching the black hair on her boss’ head. Stark only laughs, chest and sides heaving with it. The pair walk back into the manor house together, Pepper murmuring about the events during her absence. Attempts by Stane to continue courting her, attempts by Stane to take over the company in her absence, and visits from a few suitors chosen by Ms. van Dyne. It’s funny, but the day that Stark met with the matchmaker and received the draft notice seems like forever ago now. 

They step into the bathroom together, just like they did that fateful day. Stripping off the worn out army clothing, piece by piece, feels a lot like shedding the personhood of ‘Tony.’ With each scrap of cloth, more and more feminine features can be seen. After so many long months acting like and feeling like a boy, Natasha feels almost uncomfortable in her own skin. A strange new sensation that sets her nerves on edge.

She bathes without complaint, a fact that shocks her assistant. The water isn’t hot, in fact it is barely warm, but that suits Natasha fine, having bathed in many frigid rivers and streams during her time with the army. Pepper fusses and frets over the shrapnel injuries, taking excessive care to tend to each one. The wounds are closed now, though still tender. A shiver shoots up her spine when she emerges from the bath feeling brand new and cleaner than she can ever remember being before.

Rose scented lotion is smoothed over new callouses and old ones and across muscular shoulders. The same shimmering red dress she wore to her date with the matchmaker sits in her closet, waiting to be worn. Natasha cannot resist. Clinging invitingly to her hips, it drapes down across her slender figure. It doesn’t fit quite the same. She hasn’t eaten in days, after all. Natasha mentions this to Pepper in passing. With a horrified look on her face, the red-head rushes away to the kitchen.

Standing in front of the mirror, Natasha fingers a few of the red and puckered wounds barely visible over the bust of her dress. Her gaze lingers over her appearance. The short curly hair, the strong arms and legs, the confident set of her shoulders. She recognizes this woman. She knows this woman. She is Natasha Antonia Stark, Head of the House of Stark. She is the Iron Woman.

Walking through the halls of her own home, Natasha makes her way to the front entrance. The doors stand open wide and a man stands silhouetted in the sunlight. In the courtyard behind him, Stark can see a heavy beam blocking the stable door and Pepper’s still form laying face down in the dirt. Anger swells inside her. 

“What are you doing here, Stane.“ It isn't a question. Natasha knows exactly why he has come. She stands next to the display of her father's swords and armor. The swords she had wielded in battle are still in the smithy and of no use to her now. The swords that remain are older, more brittle. No great defense there. She can't see a weapon anywhere on the large man, but she isn't convinced he is unarmed. 

“Natasha, when I paid those assassins to eliminate your parents, I had planned to take you as my wife and eliminate you myself when you had outlived your usefulness. But you managed to kick me out of the Smithworks before their bodies could be found. So I ordered a hit on you, hoping that the company would fall to me, the next available noble, as you have left no heirs to inherit. When you vanished, I had thought you were dead and that I had won,” Stane grins. The sight of it turns Natasha’s stomach. She steps closer to the ornamental armor, placing herself in front of it as Obadiah continues his tirade. Tucking her hands back behind her, she presses her fingers along the red and gold plated armor. There should be a small dagger here somewhere. She just needs to find it before Stane attacks..

“Unfortunately you seem to inspire unquestioning loyalty in those around you. Your servants and workers prevented me from taking over in your absence. And now here you stand. Alive, against all odds, and I will have to finish what I started. This company will be mine!” With a growl, Stane lunges at the heiress, reaching for her neck with his bare hands. She swings her fists between his arms, blocking his grip and knocking him off balance. The tiny gold-plated dagger clutched in her fist slices against the man’s arm, sending blood across the polished wood floor.

“You bitch,” he spits, clamping one hand around the gash. “You’ll pay for that. You’re just a stupid child with delusions of importance. You’ll never amount to anything.” Stane hisses, shifting his weight but not stepping any closer as Natasha brandishes the blade in his direction. In her peripheral vision, she sees the front gates swing open and a gray blur shoot through the gap.

“Didn’t you hear? I helped defeat Hydra. I saved the council. I will not bow down to someone like you. I am the Iron Woman,” she declares proudly. Large blood stained hands lunge forward and close themselves around her neck. Natasha struggles, fighting to free her airways and continue breathing. The dagger in her hands finds its way into Stane’s gut. Hot wet blood drenches her fist. 

Stane’s hands weaken their grip and Natasha wiggles away, sliding the dagger across his abdomen as she backs up. Despite the gaping wound in his stomach, Stane reaches out for her again, rage in his eyes. A shout echoes from the courtyard and Natasha kicks Obadiah in the chest, knocking him flat. He doesn’t stand up. Silence rings in her ears. 

Stark looks up from the man bleeding out on her entryway floor and up at the new silhouette in the doorway. She finally recognizes Captain Rogers’ slightly hunched figure, standing with one hand clenched in Dummy’s collar. The dog's lips are curled into a snarl and his jaws flex over and over as he barks aggressively. Rhodey is crouched next to Pepper in the courtyard, the red-head sitting up with a hand pressed to her temple. The stable door shudders under pounding fists. Sounds return to her all at once. Violent growls and barks from the dog, the sounds of Happy and Jarvis trying to escape the stable, Rhodey’s questions and Pepper’s responses.

Wordlessly, Steve holds out one hand to Natasha. He doesn’t flinch when she places her bloody fist into his open hand, the dagger pointing skyward and tight in her grip. Steve walks her away from the house and over to the well tucked next to the stable while Rhodes unblocks the stable door. Happy bolts through the opening and runs straight for Pepper, gathering her into his arms and searching her for injuries. He presses kisses along her hairline when he finds to be uninjured, leaving her in giggles as they sit in the dirt. 

The captain draws up a bucket of water and Natasha takes her time to carefully wash Stane’s blood from her hands and the dagger. Steve stands guard until Jarvis joins them. While Jarvis tuts over the blood stains on her dress, Rhodey and Steve return to the house. They unceremoniously haul Stane through the front gates, tossing his body into the road to bleed out or crawl to the town for treatment. If anyone would bother providing aid. Stane had made no friends in Stark River Settlement.

The silence surrounding the property is broken as the gates swing shut in Stane’s face. Birdsong begins to fill the air as a pair of swallows dance in the sky, darting in and out of the blooming tree branches. Dummy barks happily, bouncing among the gathered people in the courtyard, gleefully greeting Happy and Pepper before returning to run circles around Natasha and Steve when the soldier joins the heiress.

The heavy scent of cherry blossoms surrounds them. The unique smell of military weapons and road travel clings to Steve, putting a smile on Natasha’s face. The breeze picks up the scents of ash from the quiet forge, hay from the stable, and sweetgrass from the fields beyond the wall. Steve stands in the dappled shade of the cherry tree, smiling back at Stark.

“Hey, Tony,” he says. The smile on Natasha face expands into a grin and she holds back a giddy laugh. Steve doesn’t say anything else, stumbling over his words. Leaving sentences unfinished and questions unasked. An awkward silence stretches on the longer Steve fails to complete a question. Amused, Natasha pets Dummy as the dog stands beside her and finally takes pity on the Captain.

“Let’s get dinner.”

“Wh-- Yeah? I mean, yes. Let’s do… that.” Steve stumbles, blushing bright red. Spending a night out on the town is exactly what Natasha needs to see Steve as a person and not as Tony’s commanding officer. A genius idea pops into her mind. She bites her lips for a moment, torn with indecision. In the end, she realizes that her life has been a long series of calculated risks. 

The risk that Stane would overtake the Smithworks. The risk that the army would discover Tony as a fraud. The risk that the last Stark would die in battle against Hydra. All of these risks were acceptable even if they had only a fifty percent chance of working out in her favor. This was a safe risk that she was more than willing to take. Besides, she was reasonably sure that this wasn’t a risk of an ending, but the risk of an amazing new beginning.

Natasha reaches forward, running her fingers into Steve’s blond hair, curling her fingers into the nape of his neck and pulling him close. Their lips meet, soft and chaste. Natasha pushes to deepen it, moving even closer and pressing her body along the length of his. Steve groans sinfully and the sound sends tingles up her spine. A man clears his throat behind her, causing the pair to jump apart. 

Jarvis spares them both a quelling glance, which Natasha answers with a smug look of her own. “Lunch will be ready momentarily. Please report to the dining room and keep your hands to yourselves,” he orders, walking away as Natasha laughs and Steve blushes again. Smiling brightly, Stark takes Steve’s hand and pulls him into the house. An amazing new beginning indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions regarding the symbolism in the story (there's a LOT) or any of the references, feel free to contact me through tumblr or email from my profile page. 
> 
> First, I'd like to thank [Woad](http://tinctoriawoad.tumblr.com/post/153473218990/2016capimbb) and [Kaitovsheiji](http://kaitovsheiji.tumblr.com/post/153484491528/hello-people-of-earth-1218-today-i-bring-you-my) for all their hard work providing art for the story. This tale would be far poorer without their amazing art. Make sure to send some love their way!  
> [Direct link to art file: 1- Pepper applying makeup to Natasha](http://68.media.tumblr.com/c92a556d2205f9ca3d093e52a1226461/tumblr_ogiptxvVAj1uxjhqto1_1280.png)  
> [Direct link to art file: 2- Natasha looking in the mirror and seeing Tony in her reflection](https://68.media.tumblr.com/841dfb26d949f3fa2567e36a813020f4/tumblr_ogy8ady1yn1sqw779o1_1280.jpg)  
> [Direct link to art file: 3- Picture of Steve, Tony, and Thor sharing a tent](http://68.media.tumblr.com/d95acf1d355ad7a4931b1b33ba7b6e1a/tumblr_ogq5cyyiTI1uxjhqto1_1280.png)
> 
> Shout out to my cheerleader/early beta, ViennaSunrise, who stuck with me through this whole process.
> 
> I also would like to thank the cap-iron man big bang community leaders for putting this on every year and continuing to do an outstanding job at it. Thanks for making my first year an easy one.
> 
> Most of all I'd like to thank YOU! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Update Jan. 25, '17: I don't know why, but the image links broke. Seems that tumblr changed their image source starting number from 67 to 68... Don't know enough about computers to speculate why... fixed now!


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